


Collide

by templorandom



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Oral Sex, Relationship(s), Slavery, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2018-09-29 23:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 41,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10147055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templorandom/pseuds/templorandom
Summary: A young girl taken during the Spanish raid is brought to Kattegat. She catches Ivar's eye, and a battle of intrigue ensues.





	1. The Lights

**Author's Note:**

> The story begins when the Vikings find the harem during the Spanish raid. There is no explicit rape in this story, but it is implied. There is also non-consensual touching and grabbing, as well as accidental choking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some arabic interspersed in the work. I wanted to bring some verisimilitude to the story, but since I don't know arabic fluently, I'm not using it much. I also am not sure if modern arabic would be the same as it was back in this time, so bear with me. 
> 
> Anyone who is an expert, if you'd like to offer any suggestions or corrections, please feel free.

Umar pushed the women inside roughly, and locked them in. Karime had not felt fear until that moment.

She froze as the others paced and whimpered around her. Umar guarded the harim, and normally had no need to use any sort of force. He ensured all in Al Jazīra Al-Khadrā respected their space. And they did.

 _So why lock us inside?_ She wondered.

It was quiet for a long while, everyone uneasy about the unknown disturbance. Then they heard them. Voices. 

She saw some of the women approach the doors, their heads tilted in curiosity. Karime remained still, something inside of her holding her in place.

Suddenly the door burst open, and large men, the largest she had ever seen, entered the room. The women yelled and ran to huddle for safety. The men followed, striding forward; some curious, some excited, others solemn. They wore dark leather clothing, their faces covered in blood.

She had followed everyone, but was still the closest to them when they stopped. Karime watched their swords as the men observed them. They were warriors of some kind. A young one, light haired, smiled joyfully at the two leading and then giggled. He ran to Karime and she froze again. 

Eyeing him warily, she noticed the green of his sleeves matched her own dress. She raised her eyes to his face and he grinned. It was not unkind, but it said he would take without asking.

He grabbed her arm with his free hand, tried to pull her forward. Karime rooted herself firmly. His smile dropped as he looked back at her. He pulled at her again, more forcefully this time, and she moved against her will.

In that quick moment, she debated whether to fight against him. He seemed less menacing than the rest of his lot, but the grip on his sword, the blood on him, made her wonder.

Out of nowhere, Arwa appeared, placing a graceful hand over his. Karime glanced at her mistress sharply. She should have been hiding with the other wives. _What is she doing?_

The young one turned his attention to Arwa, and his smirk returned, hungrier than before. He released Karime, and her mistress smiled at him in return. She followed the foreigner freely.

“ _Sayyidat_ _ī_ ,” Karime called plaintively. She was the servant. She was supposed to shield her lady for any harm.

Arwa looked back at her, but kept walking with the longhaired man. She shook her head at Karime, saying many things in a single action. _Do not question me. Be strong. Help the others. I love you._

Suddenly, it was as if she had come alive. She heard the screams. She looked around and saw the men gathering women. Most forced them off to secluded nooks, while others simply pushed them toward the door.

She grabbed the wives and servants who had not yet been seen and shielded them with her body, walking backwards.

“Hide!” she hissed discreetly, her eyes scanning each man. The one who had led them all in, bearded and tall and yellow haired, saw her and walked forward. Karime met his gaze and moved toward him, hoping to keep his attention solely on her.

He seemed fierce, but also had a peculiar air, as if he wanted to take in and remember everything around him. She faced him expectantly, knowing that her lady had not saved her from this fate after all.

The man looked down at her, his light eyes roaming her face, her clothing. She stared back defiantly, knowing very well that she was no match for him.

He then lifted his sword and patted the backs of her legs, encouraging her forward. Karime breathed deeply, thinking of the other women. Thinking that her violation would protect her people. That this man would be the one to bear the sin of what would occur between them. Not her. She refused.

He followed behind slowly, bringing along other clusters of women. _Does he not mean to…?_ She let her thought trail off. He walked them all forward, leading them out of the harim.

Her eyes found Umar, sitting at the door. It seemed as though he were simply lost in thought, staring upward. But she knew. He was gone. She looked back at the tall one, questions and accusations furrowing her brow. His eyes met hers and he only blinked, conveying nothing.

They were chained together and hauled through the bazaar. She saw boats at the docks, odd open boats with fanged figures at the front. They were shoved onto one, and waited, as the large men climbed the other ones.

She heard someone next to her crying and she turned, lowering her head to theirs. “We will survive this,” she soothed, “They have not killed us yet.”

They pushed away suddenly from the dock, and Karime closed her eyes. She could not watch as the lights of Al Jazīra Al-Khadrā became smaller. She did not want to believe that this was the last time she would see them. Though she was being taken, she refused to believe that she would not return to her home.


	2. New

Karime thought only of Arwa’s face as they sailed.

She had never been this far out on the water before, and the constant movement made her head and stomach feel heavy. The others had even vomited over the sides already, but she was lucky, so far. Thinking of her lady’s face helped ease the feeling.

She wondered if Arwa had made it onto one of the boats. If she had, she could at least still serve her, even in a foreign place. She hoped.

When Karime woke and could see land again, she was not sure how much time had passed. There were many trees, so green and lush and big. And it was cold. Cold enough that she could see herself breathing.

She tried to nuzzle as close as she could to the other women, but the chains made it difficult. They were all shivering, and she wanted to be on land immediately. No matter where she ended up, she wanted it to be warm.

They were pulled off of the boat finally and led through what looked like a large town. It was not as impressive to her as Al Jazīra Al-Khadrā, or any other place she had visited in Al-Andalus. Everything was wood and dirt and stone.

And the people. They were all pale. Pale and tall, with hair as dark as wet earth, or light, like honey. Her own people were of many colors, but none so white as these.

She took everything in. Their foreign tongue. The men’s largeness. The women’s angular beauty. Their intricate clothing and hair. _Who are they?_

Karime was handed a cloak, and she nodded gratefully, wrapping it around herself tightly. She made sure the other women had cloaks as well.

When they were finally unchained, each one of them was led to a different place. Her face was stoic, but she hated being separated. It was cold, and everything was stark; she needed those women, to anchor her.

They led her to a hut, and inside were women, more of their pale women. She watched as they cut meat and herbs, washed bowls, poured and stirred. They were servants, she realized, just as she had been back home. Just as she would be now, she guessed.

Many turned to look at her as she was led through the throng. They seemed to be confused, and curious. Karime ignored them.

She was handed over to a young woman, who seemed to be her age. Her hair was so light, almost white, that Karime wanted to reach out and see if it was real. It was the complete opposite of her own dark curls.

She smiled at Karime and started to speak. She only stared back at her and blinked, unable to respond. The girl grasped the confusion, then lifted a hand to her chest.

“Thora,” she stated slowly, extending her syllables. She then moved her hand to Karime’s chest and lifted her brows.

Karime understood what she was asking. She pronounced her name as she always would, quickly and almost song-like. Thora paused, then furrowed her brow, trying to mimic the sound.

“Ka-ri-me,” she repeated more slowly, smiling slightly. Thora giggled and repeated her name, almost getting it right. She did not know this person, the stranger with the shocking hair, but the small kindness put her at ease somewhat. She was not treated as cattle or an object of pleasure. She was a young girl, meeting another, sharing her given name and learning one in return.

Thora grabbed her hand lightly and led her through the large hut, showing her everything. She quickly learned the words they used for knife, and bowl, and meat, and water and many more things.

The pale women stared, but smiled and were kind, easing her into the routines. She noticed that some of the women who had been brought along with her were also present; wary but attentive.

Karime kept a close eye. The women were kind to them, but it was the men who made her worry. These people all were strange to her, and she was no longer in her own land. She was the stranger. She was the foreigner, and that made her vulnerable, in many ways.

As dusk settled into night, they all cleaned up, eating the remnants of the meal that was prepared. Thora led her out of the hut through the town. In the few hours she’d known her, Karime had latched on to the girl. She did not trust her, of course, but Thora, though low in status like her, was from this world. She knew the ways of the land, and Karime could avoid as much harm as possible if she stayed close.

Thora showed her where she could sleep, and gave her furs to keep warm. All of the servants slept in the same quarters, as they did back home. But there was much less space, she noticed. Karime did not mind. The bodies shielded her from the cold that could not seem to leave her.

As they lied themselves down to sleep, she turned her back to Thora, attentive to her breathing. When she heard it deepen and level off, certain that the girl was asleep, she let the first tear finally roll down her cheek.


	3. Berries on the Beach

At some point, she had drifted off.

She had seen Arwa again, her beauty captivating as usual. She saw the other wives and their children, playing together in the corners of the harim. She saw Umar, his round face happy. She felt the weight of the air in her city, heavy and warm. She tasted her favorite sweets, light on her tongue.

 _Karime_ , she heard, far away, and wondered who was calling her. She had not yet finished eating, wanting to savor the treats.

 _Karime_. She shook her head, confused. The warm air was suddenly cool. Her taste buds flat. The sweets dissolved into nothing in her hand.

“Karime,” Thora urged, shaking her lightly. She finally opened her eyes. They felt dry and fuzzy.

The light haired girl looked sad to have woken her, but her eyes were expectant. She rose, blinking at the sunlight pouring in. Thora stood and waited. Karime rose to her feet, digging the heel of her palm into her left eye, then followed the girl.

She was taken to bathe, and after cleaning herself, was given a dress that made her skin itch. Karime was used to lighter and softer materials, ones that let her skin breathe during hotter days. The dress she was given hung off her body, a bit too large in the chest and waist, but she was grateful for the warmth it provided her.

Then Thora gave her a bowl filled with berries. She grabbed one, and held it up to Karime’s face. She pointed at it, said what she assumed was the word for berry in her language, and held it to her face again. Thora showed her a different berry, almost identical to the first one, save for the tiny dots missing from its surface. She pointed, shook her head, then grabbed at her neck like she was choking.

She took one from the bowl, held it up again, and ate it. Karime understood. The ones in the bowl were edible. The others were poisonous.

Thora led her to a large field, where the bushes overflowed with fruit. She picked a few, then looked at Karime pointedly, and gave her the bowl. Karime searched carefully, and found an edible one, picking it. She picked a few more, then glanced at Thora, who smiled.

She gestured over the bowl, telling Karime to fill it, then started to walk away. She shook her head fiercely, and Thora paused, looking unsure. She didn’t know how to tell the girl to stay, so she grabbed at her arm desperately.

Thora smiled sadly. She placed her own hand over Karime’s, patting it lightly, before removing it. She squeezed Karime’s upper arm, reassuring her, then walked away again, leaving her on her own.

Karime looked around, feeling uneasy. Her eyes started to water, and she bit her lip, feeling too many things at once.

She breathed, then looked at the berries.  _Fill the bowl_ , she told herself.  _Do it. Fill the bowl._

She turned back to the bush, and searched cautiously. She picked and picked and picked. She even made it into a game. For every five berries she picked, she allowed herself to eat one.

They were tart, but had a sweet aftertaste she enjoyed. It was the first thing she had come to like in this new place.

A long while had passed and the bowl was still only half full. She tried to concentrate, her eyes roaming over green to find the round treasures, but a buzzing sound, far away, nudged in her ear.

She knew that sound. 

_Waves._

Karime followed it, the bowl secure in her arms, until she made her way onto a beach. It was empty, and cold, like everything else in this new place. But the sound of the waves was so pleasant, she sat and listened.

They sounded the same as they did back home. If she ignored the chill in the air, she could forget that she was ever taken away. She closed her eyes and lied herself back into the sand, the crashing symphony her only world at the moment.

She felt more than heard someone approaching. Her body was completely still, though she was fully awake now, after sensing them. Deep breaths, as if someone were hauling something forward, overpowered the sound of the waves. They were close.

When she felt them right above her she opened her eyes, forcing herself not to flinch. Karime saw irises so blue she wondered if she was staring into the depths of the waters that had called her many moments before.

The man stared down. His eyes were angry, but in such a way that told her they always looked like that, no matter his mood. They were wonderful, regardless. His hair was dark, not as dark as hers, and flowed back, in a thick and shiny mane.

His lips were full, his jaw angular.  _Beautiful_ , she thought, as she stared back at him. She had not seen anyone like him before. Not even among the men she had seen in the town. She knew she should feel fear. He was one of them. But she could only stare.

Her eyes trailed down his body and she noticed his legs bound together. He was not simply lying over her to scare her.  _He cannot walk_ , she realized. But his legs were long, and the rest of him was broad. She imagined him upright, and knew he embodied the largeness she had seen in the rest of his people. 

She rose slowly as she kept observing him. He tilted his head, watching her in return. Karime was not sure of what to do, as she had yet to grasp his tongue. She only knew the few words Thora had taught her the day before. Saying _knife_ and _meat_  would be random and nonsensical, given the moment. So she turned, picking a berry from the bowl, and handed it to him in greeting.

He looked at her hand, but did not move to grab it. She edged it closer, almost bringing it to his lips. Then someone yelled.

“Ivar!” they heard, and he glanced to see who had spoken. Three men approached, one of whom she immediately recognized: the young warrior who had walked away with Lady Arwa.

She dropped the berry in the sand.

She needed to leave. Now.

Karime backed away from him and struggled, her movements jerky as she tried to stand in the ill fitting dress. The man, whom she guessed was named Ivar, turned back to her again, confused. She grabbed at the bowl, being careful not to drop any more of the berries, and found her footing.

His brow furrowed, then he started crawling toward her, heightening her fear. What was he going to do to her? Would he trap her, keep her in place until the other man arrived?

She covered the berries and ran. Karime heard him yell at her back, but she kept on. She ran, and she did not look back.


	4. Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I knocked the first four chapters out, and wanted to post them immediately. I'll be working on the next few, and will post as soon as they are ready. 
> 
> Also, there is currently very little dialogue. I wanted to make the story a bit more realistic, so Karime obviously does not know how to speak their language (yet), and they can't speak hers. She is learning, but there will still be mostly description and non-verbal communication, as there was in the first chapters, though the dialogue is increasing.
> 
> I also don't want to write Ivar out of character, but I did not envision Karime as someone who would tolerate much of his antics. She is very honest with herself about her feelings, and also is willing to stand up for herself and others, regardless of consequences. So these two will learn about each other, and possibly will grow from that. It has been shown the lengths Ivar will go, as he has very little impulse control, but I did not want to make this a display of abuse. I did not want her receiving that. So he will definitely push and test her boundaries, and do things to others that will make her question him and what she feels. And she will do and say things that will make him think, and think twice. There will be hurt and anger and miscommunication. He will do things that he wants, but may not be considerate of her, and she will speak up about it, however she can. You will see one example in this chapter. But again, I did not want abuse. 
> 
> Any constructive feedback is welcome. I definitely had general idea of how the story would go, but I also want to make it enjoyable to read. So please feel free to question or comment, because I will definitely take them into account when writing.

She was out of breath by the time she found Thora. The girl looked at her, confused, then her face was slightly irritated when she saw the bowl.

Karime shook her head, and raised her arms, motioning that it was all she could find, though it was not the full truth. Thora pursed her lips and twisted them to the side, nodding to show she understood. She grabbed the bowl out of her hands gently and placed it next to a mound of dough.

Karime looked around, seeking work. She wanted to keep busy, wanted to forget seeing the beautiful man. And seeing the one who walked away with Arwa. The memory filled her with conflicting emotions. So she wanted to do, not feel.

She cut, and pulled, and kneaded, and stirred. She put everything into the food they were preparing. Back home, she had only served the dishes. She had been taught to prepare and cook, but others had always taken care of those tasks.

The whole day, she revived her dormant skills, and made up for not getting enough berries. She worked and worked and did not notice the sun had set.

As she was clearing up the tables they used for prepping, Thora appeared again. Karime thought the girl had another task for her, but Thora stopped her, and motioned for Karime to follow.

She glanced at everything left to do, hesitating, but followed. There were groups of people throughout the town, some returning to their quarters, others laughing and whispering.

They walked, away from everyone, through a clearing on the outskirts. She noticed the lights inside a cabin surrounded by trees, and stopped. Where was Thora taking her? To whom?

Thora glanced back, and paused, urging her to follow. Her face looked stern, as if there would be consequences if they failed to go. Karime closed her eyes and exhaled. She did not want to go. She did not want to meet any more strange people. She wanted home.

But she followed, not liking the look on Thora’s face. The light haired girl knocked on the door, and Karime heard someone speak. Thora pushed the door open and they walked in.

The fire inside warmed the cabin, which put her somewhat at ease, though she still felt leery. She glanced around, taking in her surroundings, when her eyes found him. The beautiful man.

 _Ivar_.

He stared back at her. He said something, and Thora answered. But his eyes never left hers.

Karime looked down at her hands, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Ivar and Thora continued to exchange words and she allowed her mind drift, unaware of what they were saying.

She heard Thora say her name, much better than the first time she pronounced it, and Karime looked up suddenly. Ivar’s face looked confused and intrigued.

He said something abruptly, and Thora turned to leave. Karime started to follow, but Ivar said something again, and Thora faced her. She shook her head at Karime and put her hands up, motioning for her to stay. That made her panic.

She watched as Thora left the cabin. Her eyes welled up again, but she blinked the tears away. Karime heard Ivar speak once more, and she turned to face him. Whatever he had said, he repeated, waving at her to come to him.

She went hesitantly. She wanted the time between each step she took to last an eternity. But then he was suddenly before her, his blue eyes bright in the candlelight.

Ivar pulled her down onto the bench where he sat. There was an awkward distance between them when her bottom hit the seat, deliberate on her part. He inched closer, and she started to move away, but he grabbed her shoulder and kept her in place.

He was strong, so she tried to be still, unsure of what he could do to her. His hand was large and warm, even through her dress and the gauntlet he wore. Ivar released his hold and lowered his arm slowly. He then grabbed one of her hands and turned it, running his fingers over her palm.

He seemed interested in the designs. Lady Arwa had been talented at using ḥinnā to decorate their palms and feet, and had created the marks. Karime asked her to make them permanent, and Arwa used a hot needle one night, poking at her skin. It had taken hours, and she could still remember the stinging pain. But she loved what her lady had made.

Ivar looked up at her while tracing the intricate marks. He must have noticed them when she offered him the berry on the beach. His face showed so many things without speaking. He looked fascinated and predatory and eager all at once. Karime wondered how that was possible, and how she could decipher it all.

He lifted his hand from her palm and brought it near her face. Her eyes watched the movement, watched as he ran his fingers through her hair, across her skin. Without thinking, she reached up, and pulled his hand away roughly.

He looked at her again, this time with venom in his eyes. She then realized he was used to getting his way, more so than most men. In her mind, Karime knew she should be wary, but her anger flared. She returned the look.

His people stole her from her home and brought her to their cold, odd land. She was at everyone’s mercy. Her servitude was a means of survival. And she would serve. But in that moment, she would let him know that she could defy, and certainly would. That she was not his, or anyone’s. No matter how beautiful she thought he was, she would not let him take anything from her without her willing. She would not let him think she was his plaything.

He stared back, lifting his chin. And then smirked.

That surprised Karime. She kept her face still, but she had not expected him to respond in such a manner. _What did that mean?_

His fingers met her skin once more, circling her jaw softly. They lowered to her neck, and she could feel the warmth of him again. Ivar gripped and suddenly dragged her to him. Karime widened her eyes, shocked by the action and the closeness. She thought it would hurt, the way he pulled at her, but thankfully, it did not. Though she doubted he would care.

She was so close she could smell Ivar’s scent, radiating a combination of things. Earth and metal and salt. Karime stared back at him, unflinching, though her heart fluttered in fear and uncertainty.

He observed, his breath ghosting across Karime’s skin. Ivar watched as if he were trying consume her, drink all of her in; his nose, his lips almost brushing her own features. But he kept on, eyes roaming over all of her.

Ivar held her neck a bit too tightly, and a small noise, almost a whimper, escaped from the back of her throat. His eyes met hers quickly, unsure. A wicked smile then revealed itself on his lips.

He let go of her slowly, staying close. _He liked it_ , she realized. _He liked it when I made that sound_. Karime was not sure what to think of that. She had been too scared to think of anything but survival since she had been taken.

The door to the cabin burst open suddenly, and the three men from the beach entered. They stopped when they saw her and Ivar on the bench, his body practically hovering over hers.

Karime stood and backed away immediately, staring between the men. Her eyes landed on the light haired warrior and she looked downward, anger and fear distorting her features.

A tall man with a long braid said something, then glanced at Ivar. The dark haired man rolled his eyes, mumbling something in return. They went back and forth, Ivar growing more annoyed, and the other seemingly more exasperated. The other two men simply watched. The one who lead them started to walk to her and she backed away again. He paused, then held his hands up, walking to her slowly.

She let him approach. He asked Karime something, something she recognized. They were the same words Thora had used when they first met. _My name_ , she thought giddily, realizing she understood. Realizing that in that moment, she was not lost or on the outside. _He is asking my name!_

“Karime,” she responded slowly, hesitantly. He repeated it back to her. She nodded.

He pointed to himself. “Ubbe,” he said. She said his name. He nodded this time, smiling. His face was kind, much kinder than the rest of the men she’d seen.

Ubbe turned and pointed at one of the other men. He was young, with wavy, yellow-white hair.

“Sigurd,” Ubbe said. Karime looked at the man and tried to say his name, but the sounds were foreign on her tongue. The man said his name correctly, slowly, and she mimicked him. He nodded.

Ubbe finally pointed at the warrior, the one who had walked away with Arwa. She looked at him reluctantly.

“Hvitserk,” Ubbe said. Karime knew she would not be able to say it, and not only because of how odd it sounded to her. She did not repeat his name after Ubbe spoke. She only stared. He looked back at her. His face was intrigued, as if he’d never seen her before.

 _He doesn’t recognize me_ , she thought. Somehow she felt relief and even more anger, all at the same time.

The four men laughed suddenly, and she startled. Her brow furrowed. They must have thought she could not pronounce his name. They were right, of course, but they did not know the other reason why she stayed silent.

They started talking and hitting each other playfully, and Karime stood still, unsure of what to do. She wanted to find Thora. Or the other women, to see if they were okay. She wanted get under the furs and sleep, forget about today. Forget about everything.

She glanced around nervously and her eyes met Ivar’s. He smiled devilishly, silently declaring he was not done with her yet. She wanted to look away, but in that moment, Karime stared back, narrowing her eyes. She told him she would not let him have his way with her. Not on his terms. She saw him chuckle at that, as if he understood, even relished her message.


	5. Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W: Rape is mentioned again in this chapter. I refuse to write it explicitly, but it happens. It happens in the show, which really turned me off. But I wrote about it in order to express the sort of aftermath of it. I don't hope to trigger anyone by bringing it up. I mean to show that it affects people, it hurts them, and angers them, deeply. It is a deplorable thing, but also so common, so I tried to touch upon that.

Ubbe walked her back to where the servants slept. And Ivar had fought him on it.

She knew because they had argued again. Ubbe was calm, his voice level as he replied, but Ivar grew more and more agitated. Karime had circled the cabin slowly, trying to leave without being noticed, but Sigurd cut their argument short, and pointed at her.

The rest of them had turned, and she stopped in her tracks.

Ubbe walked to the door, leading her out of the entrance. Ivar yelled something, but he simply closed the door behind him.

Karime followed him, grateful to leave. All of the shouting and movement had put her on edge, and she was tired. When he turned back to her, she gave him a small smile, nodding her thanks.

With him, she felt the same way she felt around Thora. Not necessarily safe, but just a bit more at ease. She did not have to worry that they would hurt her, or make her do something she did not want to do. Karime could easily sense that they were the kind of people who had good intentions.

Others were different. Like Ivar. He drew her in, with his stunning eyes and commanding demeanor, but in such a way that scared her. Like he would engulf her, and she would lose herself entirely. He seemed to take and demand and expect, with little regard for what others wanted. And the other one. Hvitserk. He seemed dangerous as well, but in a different way. A subtler, playful kind of dangerous. But dangerous nonetheless.

Karime had been told, by many of the wives back home, to let go of her swift judgment of others. But it was not judgment. It was a feeling. A pang really, that she always sensed right under her ribcage. She always trusted it, whenever she met anyone. It was a rare occurrence when it failed her.

She lost herself in her thoughts as they walked, not realizing they were back in the town. Ubbe left her with the other servants, and she bowed to him slightly, thanking him again. He smiled at her silent gratitude, his blue eyes creasing endearingly.

She saw some of the others wives and servants milling about, and went to each of them. Some of them simply looked exhausted, unused to having to labor all day.

Karime heard Nour, another one of the girls who had served with her back home. She would not stop crying and shouting, and Karime approached warily, wanting to comfort her.

“He will find me again!” she said, her eyes red and filled with tears.

“Who? Who will find you again? What happened?” Karime asked, framing Nour’s face with her hands.

“He will find me! He will do it again! He will! He will!” she insisted. Karime hugged her, letting Nour sob into her shoulder. One of the elder women sat behind her, and Karime turned, whispering in her ear.

“What happened to her? What did they do?”

“One of the men had his way with her,” the older woman, Amal, replied, her tone grave, almost disgusted. “She was fetching water when he grabbed her out of nowhere. Her dress was ripped and soiled when we found her, and she was bruised. All over her body.”

Karime bit her lip, anger flowing into her chest. She felt someone watching her and glanced up. Thora stared back at them, a sad, knowing look on her face. _They’ve done it to her as well_ , Karime realized.

The girl left suddenly, then reappeared, moments later. She approached them carefully, a cup in her hand. She gave it to Karime, nodding at Nour. She closed her eyes and nodded at Thora in return, thanking her.

Karime lifted the cup to Nour’s lips. She drank the warm liquid easily, and moments later, she was calmer, almost sleepy. She lied down and Karime covered her with furs, brushing her hair back form her face. Nour slept, but tears still rolled down her cheeks.

She was so enraged; Karime wanted to rip the hair out of her head. It seemed as though no one was safe. If they could violate Nour, if they could violate Thora, who was one of them, one of their people, what chance did the rest of them have?

When she saw Thora again, she walked up and hugged her tightly. She wanted to say she was sorry. Sorry that she had to know what Nour had experienced. Sorry that they both had to carry that weight with them. She wanted to take that pain from them both.

Thora hugged her back just as tightly. They were from different worlds, but they had an understanding, being there together. An understanding of what it meant to not be valued. Of what it meant to serve others, against one’s will.

They parted, and Thora looked at her closely, confused.

“Ivar…?” she said.

Karime shook her head, shrugging. “Ubbe,” she responded, pointing at the door. At that, Thora seemed relieved, prompting a quizzical look from her. Thora furrowed her brow, thinking of how she could convey what she wanted to say.

She brought her hands together, and said, “Mamma…..pappa.” She repeated the gesture, then said, “Ubbe, Ivar,” as her hands mimicked a blooming flower. Karime nodded, grasping what Thora meant. Ubbe and Ivar were brothers. But what of the other two men? Who were they?

“Hvitserk? Sigurd?” she then asked, knowing she was butchering their names.

“Mamma, pappa,” she repeated, nodding. They were all brothers. “Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, Ivar – mamma, pappa,” she said. “Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, Ivar, Bjorn – papa, nei mama.”

“Bjorn?” Karime asked. Another odd name. And Bjorn was their brother as well? A brother with whom they shared a father only, it seemed.

Thora raised her hand high, to show he was tall. Then motioned to her face, to show he had a beard. She tied her hair back, and held it, showing he had a long braid, like Ubbe did.

Tall and bearded, with a long braid. She remembered the warrior in the harim, who had patted her legs with his sword. That was Bjorn.

They must be important, they and their parents, if Thora knew so much about them. Karime furrowed her brow, a questioning look on her face before she said, “Mamma? Pappa?” she raised her hands, trying to ask who they were.

Thora paused. She then waved her hands everywhere, pointing in every direction. Then held her hand up, above them both.

“Mamma, pappa,” she said.

They were rulers. Royalty, Karime realized. She was shocked. And then she was scared. If their parents ruled this land, then they were royalty, as well. And that meant they could do as they pleased. Have anything they pleased. Anyone.

Now Karime understood Thora’s look of relief. She assumed Ivar would have had his way with her, but hearing that Ubbe was present calmed her fears.

But he had. Ivar had touched her, and who knows what else he might have done if his brothers had not arrived. Would her fate have been the same as Nour’s?

She wanted to hope it would not, but his eyes had demanded so much without a single word being spoken. And his hands had done even more.

She could not bear to think anymore. She was tired. And sad, for Nour and Thora. And angry for them. But grateful. Grateful to Ubbe. Grateful to Thora. Grateful that she had the other wives and servants around her, despite being far from home.

She lied down, covering herself. _We are not safe_ , she reminded herself. _I am not safe_. She had to avoid them all, every single one of those brothers. She did not care how powerful they might be. She promised herself she would be out of their sight.


	6. Slash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Karime and Hvitserk meet again, and it does not go well. More non-consensual stuff in this chapter.

Hvitserk made her break her promise.

She meant to stay hidden, work without being seen. But her plan went awry, completely.

As soon as Karime woke, she rushed to Nour. The girl was still asleep, the bruises bleeding through her skin. Karime covered her with more furs, making sure she would be warm, and told the other women to take turns watching over her. She was sure that Nour would not forget her ordeal any time soon.

Karime left the hut carefully. She watched everyone, seeing their faces but missing their gaze. She did not want to chance running into any one of the brothers, so she had to be vigilant and discreet.

She found Thora chopping some meat, and joined her. The girl smiled at Karime. She smiled back, her heart heavy. _How could she still be so happy? So kind? After living this life? After everything?_

Karime thought her brave. Brave and resilient.

They chopped in comfortable silence. The rhythmic cleaving was somehow soothing to Karime, the repetition easing her mind. After they finished, Thora handed her a bowl. It had a handful of berries at the bottom.

Karime huffed, knowing what was being asked of her. Thora made a face, as if to say, “Sorry, but it has to be done.” Karime nodded, taking the bowl, and making her way to the bushes.

She did appreciate the solitude picking berries provided. Almost no one was around, and Karime felt her body relax. She sat, running her fingers through the green leaves, searching carefully for the tart treats.

She was so engrossed in the task that she failed to hear him approaching. He was right next to her when she noticed his presence and startled. Her hand caught on something, and she pulled roughly, her mind disoriented. Her skin tore, and red gushed from her finger.

Hvitserk laughed at her clumsiness, and she glared back at him. _How did he even find me?_ The greenery hid her well enough where she sat. There was no way anyone could have seen her.

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Karime started to pull back, but he held her firmly. His tongue lapped at the blood; then he took her finger fully into his mouth, sucking on the cut. Hvitserk released his hold and examined her hand, satisfied that the blood had stopped flowing.

Her heart was beating fast. His presence made her anxious. She thought back to their first meeting, in the harim. Images of tall, blood-soaked men filled her mind. She remembered the hungry look on his face. The way he had gripped her. The way he had lit up when Arwa arrived. She remembered it all so clearly.

Her eyes met his, and in that moment, she knew.

He had not forgotten her. He remembered everything as well.

Hvitserk leaned in and caught her lips with his eagerly. She could taste her own blood, metallic and sweet, on his tongue. She pushed at his chest, parting their mouths, but he reached up quickly and held the back of her neck, bringing them together again.

Karime made a sound, and he laughed softly against her mouth, as if it pleased him. She pushed against him once more, harder this time, and she was the one who fell back. His face looked amused. He must have thought she was playing some sort of game with him. She did not care what he thought. Karime dragged herself away, then stood and ran, leaving the berries again.

She found the beach. It was empty, and she was thankful.

Karime dropped to her knees, and felt the sand digging into her body. She sobbed, hard. Her eyes flooded with tears, and she was not sure if they would ever stop.

She was just so tired. Tired of running. Tired of being afraid. Tired of not understanding, of being in this foreign, cold land. She wanted the warmth of Al-Andalus. She wanted her own people. She wanted the harim, where no one took anything from her.

She was a servant, but was still respected. The harim was a sacred place, for her and the rest of the women and children. There, she was not seen as an object. She had purpose. She had love.

Karime cried even harder, covering her face. She cried and wailed, not caring who heard.

A dragging sound filled her ears and she stopped abruptly. She looked around and her eyes landed on Ivar, making his way toward her.

She stood and faced him, her mind filled with nothing but rage. Karime walked to him, her body shaking.

She leaned down and whispered a single word, one she knew he would understand: “Nei.”

He looked at her, confused. She said it over and over again, raising her voice at him.

No. No. No!

She kept saying it until she was shouting, tears spilling down her cheeks again. Why could they not leave her alone? Why must these men always chase her, torment her? Did they not understand? Did they not see how fearful she was? How fearful all of them were? She wanted to shout all of it at him, wanted to make him comprehend what she was feeling. But she couldn't. So she cried. She cried and shouted and told him no.

Ivar watched her, alarm and frustration marring his features. He reached a hand up to her and she stopped, backing away immediately. He anticipated her reaction and started crawling to her.

Karime turned and ran to the water. It shocked her body, the freezing liquid shaking her to the core. She had never felt anything so cold in her life. But it was worth it. She assumed Ivar could not swim, without the use of his legs.

She was right.

He watched her from the shore, agitated.

But he waited.

He must have known how cold the water was. How intolerable it was, even for his own people. But Karime was stubborn. She crossed her arms and sat, the water reaching past her chin. She could wait as well.

They stared at each other across the distance. Her eyes remained hard, and he smirked. She started to feel a throbbing in her bones, the cold seeping in, but she refused to budge.

Ivar's face started to soften when he realized how long she had been in the water. He shouted something her, but she only blinked, unable to understand.

Her body was going numb. Ivar shouted again, waving at her to come to shore, and for a moment, she was so tempted. The water was so cold.

But she would not let him best her. She stayed. She stayed until she could no longer feel her limbs. She stayed until her vision started to blur. She stayed, even when she heard Ivar yelling his brothers’ names. She stayed until her body collapsed into the waves and she saw nothing but blue.


	7. Grip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we get Ivar's point of view. I definitely struggled with this chapter. I'm trying to capture him and the rest of the characters accurately, so if something is off, please comment. Additionally, if a plot point is off, just let me know.
> 
> Also, I used the word "cripple" in this chapter. I only use it because it the word they use on the show. I don't like it, and I'm pretty sure it is an offensive term. It is not used as an insult, but I still don't like it. So if there is any other word that I can replace it with in this and future chapters that they used back then, please give me a heads up and I will change it immediately.
> 
> I also mention older characters in this chapter: Ragnar, Athelstan, Floki, Helga, and Aslaug, thought they do not appear. Tanaruz is mentioned as well, since she was taken from the raid.

What a stupid, stubborn woman she was.

Ivar watched her as Bjorn carried a motionless Karime in his arms. He could not see much, as he followed his brother to the cabin. But he was appalled. She would rather freeze to death than be in his presence?

“What happened?” Ubbe asked when they entered with her, his voice apprehensive. He approached them as Bjorn placed her down on the bed.

“Ivar must have done something to her, scared her. She most likely tried to run away. She was in the water, almost frozen,” his brother replied.

“What did I tell you, Ivar? I said to leave her alone. She is frightened being here, can you not see?”

“I did not scare her,” Ivar scoffed. “I found her on the beach, and she was crying. Then she started screaming at me, and when I went to calm her, she ran away. And what right do you have to scold me? I do not take orders from you.”

“How did you try to calm her exactly?” Ubbe asked.

“I did not have the chance. She was crying and screaming, ‘No,’ over and over again. Then she ran to the water, and would not leave, even when I told her she would freeze. I am not to blame if she chose this for herself,” Ivar replied, irritation seeping into his tone.

“And you could not understand her when she said ‘No’?” Ubbe posed, his voice implying that he did not expect an answer. He motioned for Margrethe to help, and he fetched more furs as she stripped Karime of her wet clothing. They placed her in a heavy tunic and tucked her in. Ivar noticed the dark circles framing her eyes; how her dark skin was now wan; her breath shallow.

He wondered if she would die.

He wondered where her people went, when they passed on. He wondered many things about her. More than he had about any other person before. He did not understand why. Why, in the few days since she’d arrive to Kattegat, she had been his focus. And that confused him. It confused him that he was drawn to her, this servant girl.

Ivar told himself she was not worthy of his attention. Karime was not a formidable shieldmaiden or a queen, he certainly knew. Those marks on her hands were not earned; they were too delicate. She did not inspire admiration or fear. She was no one.

But still, he wondered. And that wonder also made Ivar want to touch her, speak to her. Know her. It lit a spark that he could not control.

Is this what his father had felt, with the priest? Athelstan?

He did not remember the man, but it was well known how much Ragnar loved him. How deeply he had mourned when Floki killed him. How could he have cared so much for someone of no blood relation? For someone of little importance?

Of one thing Ivar was sure. He did not want her to die so easily. He would not allow it. So he would sit, watch her until she woke again, and he would quell that wonder until it was no more.

“Leave her be. She must rest and get warm,” Ubbe said behind him. Ivar turned slowly, giving him a look that said he would do everything but.

Karime stirred, and he instantly turned back to her. Her brow furrowed, and she mumbled something under breath. Names. She was calling someone.

“Go get the other servant. The one named Thora,” he said suddenly.

“What for?” Bjorn asked.

Ivar twisted his face, annoyed. “Just do it,” he spat. Bjorn rose slowly, giving him a pointed look before he left.

“At times, you really seem to forget yourself, little brother,” he stated, then walked toward the door. Ivar only gave him a withering look, not bothering to reply. Bjorn returned a while later with Thora in tow. The girl looked worried, and ran to the bed when she saw Karime.

“Is she okay, is she alive?” Thora asked desperately.

“She will be okay,” Ubbe assured her. “She is not used to our land. The cold has affected her. She will need time to recover.”

Ivar watched as Thora’s eyes roamed over Karime. They seemed to have grown close, if the girl cared so much. This was a good sign.

“You will come here, every day, and tend to her. Give her anything she needs. You will make sure she survives this,” Ivar ordered. His last words came out menacingly, as if he were threatening her.

“Yes. Of course,” Thora replied, gripping Karime’s hand in her own. He glared at her, waiting, and she finally noticed him looking at her. She lowered her eyes, unable to meet his intense gaze.

“Leave now,” Ivar said easily, as if she should have known. Thora glanced back at Karime once more, then released her reluctantly, to get back to her duties.

“The rest of you can go as well,” he said nonchalantly.

Ubbe stared at his brother, but then obliged, leading Margrethe outside. Bjorn followed them, rolling his eyes at Ivar’s petulance.

In their solitude, her could hear Karime’s breathing, still as shallow as before. He leaned forward and cupped her cheek with his palm. She immediately turned into his touch, nuzzling at him gently. She sought warmth, and it was no surprise. Her skin felt too cold against his fingers.

A thought crossed his mind.

He dropped himself to the ground and made his way onto the bed. He bared his torso and lied himself next to her, wrapping his arms around her frame tightly. Karime turned in to him sluggishly, resting her face right against his neck. Her scent wafted around him, salty from the sea with something else beneath it. Something floral and dark that pleased him.

Her entire body was cold, her hair even blacker now from the wetness of the beach. But he could feel her breath on his skin. It was becoming deeper, fuller. And she shivered, where before her body was completely still. It was as if she were rising to life again. She wound her legs on his and held him back, desperate for the heat of him.

Though her hands were cold, he enjoyed the feel of them. It was not like it was when he had lied with Margrethe. He could feel the pity and distress in the lightness of her touch. It had infuriated him, though he yearned for it anyway.

This was different.

Ivar could not see her hands, but he felt them against his back, her fingers digging in. It did not hurt; he liked how she gripped at him. He closed his eyes and envisioned them, the red markings blooming across fluidly, like blood dancing over the skin of her palm.

He thought back to their first encounter, when she had offered him the single berry. He had stared at the markings, curious of their meaning. He wondered who she was, why her hair and skin were so much darker than his. He could not bring himself to look away.

Ivar had met the young girl Helga called her daughter afterward. Tanaruz. He remembered her eyes being just as dark, but they held deadness to them that Karime’s lacked.

Ivar also remembered Karime had said nothing. She only observed, just as curious as he, with her own large eyes. And then gave him the berry.

There was no revulsion. No fear, as Tanaruz had shown. No patronizing look. Nothing he had seen in the faces he crossed everyday, the faces he had seen his entire life. She simply regarded him, as a person.

He needed to know more. Why did he not repulse her when they first met? Ivar had seen her glance at his legs, but that is all Karime did. She only looked, then regarded him again simply.

But then she ran. Then was afraid. Then she yelled. And then she almost died. Did it suddenly dawn on her, that he was crippled? Did it disgust her so much that she had to stay away, not even be in this world?

Ivar opened his eyes sharply, hurt suddenly flooding his chest. Then anger, for letting this lowly girl make him feel such things. He was the son of Ragnar Lothbrok. His mother reigned as queen, before her murder. Her parents before them, known legends. And he would leave his own legacy, he knew. He was not beneath anyone.

He looked down at Karime, her brow furrowed as she held him tightly. He would know more, he vowed. He would quell the wonder, no matter what it took.


	8. Headway

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have been using Modern Standard Arabic, I believe, through the piece, since Andalusian Arabic is actually extinct. Anyway, if there are any grammatically errors, please let me know, as I am not fluent in Arabic, and am only using basic terms.

The smell of mead was heavy in the cabin.

Ivar opened his eyes. The fire had long since died out and dawn nearly approached, though it was still dark. He glanced around slowly; saw his brothers lying about, deep in slumber. Ubbe snored softly, Margrethe’s head laying on his chest. Sigurd’s lips were parted slightly, an arm strewn across his eyes.

When Ivar’s eyes landed on Hvitserk, he saw his brother was awake. His gaze was intense, and when he followed it, lying still so as to seem asleep, he realized where Hvitserk was looking.

Karime.

Instinctively, he gripped her closer. Ivar closed his eyes again, burying his face in her hair. A bolt of fury shot through his body. _Why was Hvitserk staring at her like that? As if he….longed for her? Had something occurred between, in the few days she’d arrived?_

Filthy thoughts of them together filled his mind then, and his anger flourished. His hold on her tightened even more, and Karime made a sound, slight and high-pitched. He looked down at her. Her brows were knit together, but as he eased his grip, her face softened. She now looked calm, like he remembered her looking the first time they had met.

Ivar glanced back at his brother. His eyes were closed. Ivar wanted to confront him. _But then what?_ Karime was not solely his. Yet.

Still, he was curious. If he wanted her, Hvitserk had rights to take her. Anyone could. She was a thræll, barely a servant.

But Ivar wanted her. And that look on his brother’s face - that was more than simple desire. If Hvitserk wanted to satiate his needs, he could simply lie with Margrethe, as he had done before, or any of the other servant girls. So what was there between them?

And more importantly, how fast could he make Karime forget it?

He thought and thought until he dozed off. A soft knock at the door woke him again, and he started to rise. Karime pulled at him, urging him back down to her. Ivar smirked, but released her.

The sun was starting to rise now; it’s rays peaking into the cabin. He crawled to the door and found Thora, food and clothing in hand. He waved her in, and she entered, her footsteps light.

Thora knelt next to Karime and whispered her name. Thora then nudged her gently when she did not wake. Karime turned to her, inhaling deeply. She said something he could not understand, and her eyes fluttered open. She looked groggy and weak.

Thora lifted a bowl and guided a spoon near Karime’s face. She did not open her mouth; it was as if she could barely see what was in front of her.

“Eat!” Ivar hissed lowly. Thora glanced at him quickly, then averted her eyes. She took a deep breath, then leaned in, tilting her head.

“Karime?” she whispered again, her voice soft, encouraging. “You have to eat,” she urged, though she knew the girl could not understand. “You have to eat so that you can see Nour again. She was asking for you. Everyone is asking for you. They are worried. I tried to tell them you were okay, but they still want to see you.”

 _Who is Nour?_ Ivar wondered. At that name, Karime looked at Thora, as if she finally realized whom the girl was. She smiled weakly, and Thora grinned back. She lifted the spoon again, and Karime finally ate. Thora fed her slowly, but her eyes kept shifting to Ivar.

“What is it?” he spat. She was silent for a moment, before speaking.

“I remembered that there are traders in the market. They may be from her land. I am not sure, but I believe they speak her language. I have not been able to ask, but perhaps they could help,” she posed.

Ivar mulled over her words. She was right. He suddenly recalled the men, the ones who sold thrælar. His mother had bought from them, to tend to the duties of their household. He cursed himself for not remembering sooner. But what could they tell him? What could he learn, if they really could speak with her?

“Bring one to me,” he ordered.

Thora nodded, and finished feeding Karime. She seemed a bit more awake, her eyes more worried and confused now. She glanced around, then looked back at Thora, a question in her gaze. Ivar watched as Thora looked back pointedly, but said nothing.

After helping Karime dress and braiding her hair, Thora left. Ivar sat in front of her again as she lied on the bed, curled in on herself. His brothers started to rise, but he ignored them.

“How is she?” Ubbe ask, a yawn escaping his lips.

“Alive,” Ivar responded.

“No thanks to you,” he heard Sigurd murmur.

“What do you know?” Ivar demanded.

“I know she ran away from you and almost drowned. And who could blame her?” his brother replied. Ivar heard Hvitserk chuckle, and he glared, almost lunging at them.

“We have slept too long. Bjorn is waiting, we must hurry,” Ubbe said, while looking at Ivar. He knew what his brother was doing. Always trying to play the peacemaker. It only fueled his vexation.

They gathered themselves and started to leave the cabin. He caught the glance Hvitserk gave Karime, and he balled his fists. Ivar grabbed his axe and threw it at the door right as it closed behind them.

Karime startled, her eyes apprehensive. She then ducked her head and closed them tightly. Ivar looked back at her, his breath shallow. She was afraid again.

He exhaled sharply, irritated. He did not want her afraid. He hated seeing her that way.

A knock sounded at the door. Thora.

“Come,” he said, still watching Karime. Thora entered, a young man behind her. He was tall and dark-haired, with light green eyes.

“Go,” he said to Thora, and she left immediately. The man stood expectantly, blinking at him.

“What is your name?” Ivar asked him.

“I am Mahir, Your Grace,” he responded, his speech accented.

Ivar nodded. “I want you to speak with her,” he told Mahir, tilting his head toward Karime. “Tell me about her.”

“Of course,Your Grace,” Mahir said. He took a few steps forward, maintaining a respectful distance, and cleared his throat.

“ _As-salām 'alaykum_.”

At those words, Karime opened her eyes. She looked up slowly and saw Mahir, her brows rising in what looked like relief and joy.

“ _Wa 'alaykum as-salām_ ,” she replied, a wide smile spreading across her face. It was the first time Ivar had seen her look so happy. It pleased him.

“ _Min ayn anti_?” Mahir spoke.

“ _Al-Andalus. Al Jazīra Al-Khadrā_ ,” Karime said, almost giddy. She said more, very quickly, and Mahir nodded as he listened.

“What is she saying?” Ivar asked.

“She says your brothers brought her and the other women here, Your Grace. She does not know where she is and she is very scared.”

“Well tell her then. Tell her where she is. Tell her she has no reason to be afraid,” Ivar replied. Mahir nodded and repeated what he’d said to Karime. She spoke back to him, her voice deep and full of fervor.

“She says it cannot be helped. She is in a foreign land and cannot speak with anyone,” Mahir told him, as she kept talking. “She says a friend of hers was raped by one of your men yesterday. They all fear the same will happen to them. They fear they will be killed by your people.”

Ivar furrowed his brow. “Tell her I will not allow it. I will not allow any harm to come to her.”

Mahir replied quickly, and Karime looked at him, unsure. Ivar gazed back her, trying to look as sincere as he could. She said something to Mahir.

“She would like to know why, Your Grace.”

“Why what?” Ivar asked.

“Why you are so interested in her.”

Ivar paused, biting his lip. “Tell her because of the berry.”

Mahir nodded and translated. Karime looked at him again, her brow creased, but said nothing. Mahir continued to speak with her, and she glanced back at him. They spoke back and forth, quickly, and Ivar felt lost.

They both were laughing softly. She watched as Karime’s eyes roamed over Mahir. He looked back at the trader, assessing him. She was admiring him, Ivar realized. She thought him handsome.

His face, his presence, seemed to please her, put her at ease. He liked seeing her so relaxed. But he did not like that it was Mahir who gave that to her.

“Enough,” he said suddenly. They both looked at him.

“Send someone tomorrow, who speaks both my tongue and yours. Not you,” he emphasized. “They will translate for me, and they will teach her my language.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Mahir replied, nodding.

“And tell her she will stay with me.” Mahir repeated his words. Karime looked confused, then said something.

“She says she must return to her duties, with the other servants. She must return to the women, tend to them,” Mahir said.

“I am ordering her to stay here. She is my servant now. Her duties are anything I demand,” Ivar said, his voice low. Once Mahir relayed the message, Karime looked angry but resigned, and nodded. Suddenly, she looked up, saying something to Mahir in a desperate tone.

“Your Grace, she wonders if you know what happened to her mistress? She says she last saw her with your brother, the one they call Hvitserk? They had been together before she was brought here.”

Ivar glanced sharply at Karime. So there had been something between them then.

“I do not know. But I will surely find out.”


	9. Flow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a snow day, so I was eager to write another chapter. I kind of struggled it. It feels all over the place, but there is a reason why I wrote it. Something will come to a head, so I needed to set that up.
> 
> I did end up including Mahir again, so he plays a role. I also mention other characters again, including Lagertha. 
> 
> Again, any feedback is welcome. I'm still trying to get all the language translations correct, so if anything is off, just let me know.

Ivar was starting to regret this.

The next day Mahir returned, rather than sending another trader. He claimed no one else knew both tongues as fluently as he did, and that he did not want to disappoint Ivar, by not sending anyone at all.

He could not stand the way Karime smiled at him when they spoke. Why did she not look at him like that? But he sat through it, only to be able to learn more about her.

“She tells me she was a servant in her land. She lived with her mistress, Lady Arwa. She misses her very much,” Mahir told him.

“How do I tell her I understand?” Ivar asked him.

“You say, ‘ _ana afham_ ,’ Your Grace.”

Ivar nodded, and turned to her. He repeated the words, as closely as he could. She nodded, then looked away. That was not enough for him. He tried to think of what he could say to her, something of value.

He remembered the day before, when she had finally asked him a question. He confronted his brother about Karime, but Hvitserk had brushed him off, saying he barely knew her, and was not interested in a foreign servant girl. Ivar did not believe his words, but he pressed him, asking about Karime’s mistress. Hvitserk grew annoyed, but revealed that he had left the woman after the raid, but that he had left her alive.

“Tell her my brother said her lady is fine. He assured me that she was not dead when they left her land.”

Mahir revealed the news, and Karime’s eyes grew wide and watery. Tears streamed down her cheeks and she smiled, wiping them away. She met his gaze, then turned to Mahir, whispering something. He responded, and she faced Ivar again, her eyes uncertain.

“Takk,” she said, almost inaudibly. She kept her eyes down, not meeting his gaze, but Ivar stared at her, a hint of a smile on his lips.

Karime turned to Mahir again and said something. He responded, the pitch of his voice rising slightly. She looked him straight in the eye and shook her head. Mahir nodded, then leaned in, whispering something in her ear. Ivar almost reached for him, wanting to gouge his eyes out of their sockets. But then he leaned away again, giving Karime an encouraging look.

She glanced at Ivar, then exhaled softly.

“I….thirsty,” she said, pursing her lips.

“I’m thirsty,” Mahir correctly gently beside her.

“I’m thirsty,” she repeated slowly. “Please…..water?” she asked. Ivar nodded and she stood, walking around the cabin.

“Stay away from her,” he said to Mahir when Karime was out of earshot.

“Your Grace?”

“I see the way she looks at you. She is not yours to have,” Ivar declared.

“Your Grace,” Mahir said hesitantly, “you do not have to worry. I have no intentions of pursuing Karime.”

“And why would I believe that?” Ivar asked him rudely.

Mahir paused before answering. “I am not interested in women, Your Grace.”

Ivar stared at him, his eyebrows rising slightly. He was not interested in women. He said nothing, only nodding slightly at Mahir as Karime sat with them again. _Good_ , Ivar thought. There was one fewer person to deal with. That only left Hvitserk, and Ivar would certainly squash whatever was happening there, even if his brother said there was nothing.

“Your Grace, what else would you like to know?” Mahir posed. He looked at Karime, his eyes intense.

“Everything,” Ivar responded.

He learned that she liked sweet things, though sometimes they made her teeth hurt. He learned that her mother and father were both dead, like his. He found out that Karime had a good head for numbers, and sometimes helped the merchants in her land sell their wares. She told them she loved to sing, but she preferred to hear mistress’s voice much more than her own.

Hours passed. Ivar felt much more satisfied, knowing these small details about her. And he vowed to know more.

Karime suddenly said something to Mahir, her eyes wide.

“She asks why you do not mention anything about yourself, Your Grace.”

Ivar looked at her. It did not occur to him that she would ask anything about him.

“What does she want to know?” He asked Mahir, his eyes still on her. Mahir repeated the question, and Karime paused, a thoughtful look on her face, before responding.

“She would like to know what you fear, Your Grace.”

Ivar looked at her, and Karime stared back, eyes steady.

“I fear nothing,” he said, holding her gaze. Mahir translated, and Karime suddenly laughed.

“What is so amusing?” Ivar demanded. Mahir repeated the question, and Karime tried to reply, but kept laughing.

“She says all men fear something, Your Grace. That is what makes them human. Loving. Dying. These things overcome us. She does not believe you fear nothing.”

“Tell her I am no ordinary man. I welcome death. It is our way.”

Mahir restated his words. At that, Karime stopped and regarded him again. She said something quickly.

“And love, Your Grace?” Mahir said on her behalf. “Do you welcome that as well?”

Ivar could sense the challenge in her question. She did not think him capable of loving, of caring for anyone else? He thought of Aslaug, her face regal and beautiful in his mind’s eye. Of Floki and his genius. Of his father, and everything he had accomplished, everything he had said to him. _How dare you?_ He wanted to shout at her, tell her that of course he welcomed love.

That he was not to blame that it was denied to him. That he was not to blame for the contempt in Sigurd’s eyes. For the fear in Margrethe’s. That he was not at fault for Ubbe’s admonitions, or Hvitserk’s or Bjorn’s indifference. For Lagertha’s transgression.

He looked back at her. “As I said, I am no ordinary man.”

Mahir translated his message, but it did not seem to satisfy her. She bit her lip at his response, her brow furrowing.

Ivar had had enough questions. “Leave us,” he told Mahir abruptly.

“Yes, Your Grace,” the trader said, nodding then standing. “Shall I return tomorrow?”

“I will send for you when I see fit,” Ivar told him. Mahir nodded again, leaving the cabin quietly.

Ivar and Karime sat in silence for a while, the sun’s rays turning a golden, pinkish hue as dusk approached. He watched her, and she gazed back at him. She no longer seemed afraid of him, but Ivar still felt a hesitancy from her that irked him.

His brothers entered the cabin suddenly, and Ivar grew even more annoyed. He could never seem to have a single moment with her.

“Ah, you are awake,” Ubbe said to Karime, smiling down at her. “You are well?”

She nodded at his words, returning the smile. “Takk,” she said to him. Ubbe’s eyes widened, and he laughed, impressed.

“Are you becoming one of us now?” he teased. Karime stared back at him, tilting her head. She smiled politely, but did not respond.

“I guess not,” he chuckled, patting her shoulder. Margrethe handed him a bowl she carried, full of white mushrooms, and he fisted some, shoving them in his mouth. He held the bowl out to Karime, and she looked at them, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Ivar said. “Do not give her any.”

“Why not?” Ubbe asked. “Floki picked them just for us. I am sure she will like them.”

“Maybe you should have some too, Ivar. You might feel a little less…bloodthirsty,” Hvitserk quipped, chomping on a few.

He watched as Karime grabbed at one carefully, then ate it. She made a face as she chewed, and his brothers laughed. She finally managed to swallow it, and went for another one. They yelled loudly, encouraging her, and Ivar saw her laugh softly, biting the head.

“Give me that,” he said, grabbing a handful and eating them. They tasted like earth, soft and grainy in his mouth. But after a while, he felt the world flow around him slowly. The dying light of the sun was so many colors, and he heard everyone’s laughter in his ears.

The next moment, he was on the ground. He turned and Karime was lying next to him, stroking his face. She ran a finger over his cheek, feeling the scar there, and smiled at him.

Hvitserk was right. He felt so good right now.

He closed his eyes, feeling her breath on his face. Then after a while, she stopped.

He opened his eyes and turned again, but she was not there. Ivar sat up, looked around the cabin, but could not find her anywhere. How long had she been away from him? He felt the wind blowing on him and look toward the door. It was open. And then he realized.

She was gone.


	10. Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been obssesed with Moonlight, ever since I saw it last year, and Trevante Rhodes definitely inspired my writing of Zahran. The dude is literally a model haha. Anyway, I don't see Karime as someone who is boy crazy, but she definitely had a major crush on this dude, and fantasized about him.
> 
> So, couple that with a mushroom trip and confusion definitely ensues. I do not want to make it seem like this chapter is her being raped. I definitely do not want to paint that picture. But, in her mind, she was hallucinating, thought she was hooking up with Zahran, and realized it wasn't him. Hvitserk thought she was down, because she responded positively this time. He's been trying to keep his distance, because of how she was reacting before, but when he approaches and she's more receptive, he's like, "Oh okay, I can approach her again." So from her perspective, she's like, "Oh shit. I fucked up. And so did he. We're so stupid."
> 
> She just realizes that they were both dumbasses and did this thing, because they were high. I feel the need to explain this because I don't want to make it seem like he's taking advantage of her, or that she's okay with being fondled randomly like that. They both thought the other was down, and did not realize what was really going on.

Karime felt so wonderful.

Her lady was alive! Oh, how she wished to see her. Why had she not been brought with them? Then they would be here, together, in this land. _Kattegat_. What an unusual name, she thought to herself.

It did not matter. Arwa was alive. That is what mattered.

Karime giggled to herself. Hvitserk did not kill her. She feared that he had. But perhaps it was better that Arwa had not come with them. That meant that Karime would just have to find her way back to Al-Andalus somehow. Just find a boat and go. These people certainly had plenty.

Karime pictured her lady. The kohl she wore around her eyes. The curl of her dark hair. The grace with which she moved, grace Karime seemed to have lacked from birth. She missed her, so much.

It was now dark outside, but she did not mind. She ran her hands along the rough bark of the trees, her mind filling with more thoughts of home.

Karime remembered the cool expanse of the harim, the children’s laughter. She thought back to Umar, so loyal and wise.

She then remembered Umar’s son, Zahran. How proudly Umar spoke of his progeny.

He embodied the meaning of his given name. He was beautiful. His skin was dark, almost like onyx, and perfect. His smile radiant. He was one of the strongest men in Al Jazīra Al-Khadrā. And he was so kind. So kind and sweet-tempered.

Karime used to dream about marrying Zahran. Having his children. She imagined having her own home with him, with their family. She used to wonder if she loved him, though she knew his heart belonged to another.

She would ask the other wives and servants what it was like to lie with a man. They told her different things. Sometimes it hurt. Sometimes, it felt like the most glorious feeling on this earth. They said that sometimes, she would not feel anything at all.

But they told her how she could seek her own pleasure, by touching herself. Some nights, when she could not sleep, she would picture herself in Zahran’s arms. She pictured him kissing her deeply, running his lips along the side of her neck.

Karime would touch herself as she envisioned him inside her, thrusting gently at first, then with more zeal. She would bite her lip, hard, so as to not cry out and wake the other servants.

She had never had such thoughts about other men before. Karime felt shame at times, wanting him in such a way. He was always so respectful and gregarious; it made her cheeks warm whenever she was around him. She felt as though he, and everyone else, could sense her thoughts, and it distressed her. But she secretly wanted him to know as well.

She closed her eyes and thought of Zahran now, his wondrous face in front of her. She felt someone approach and smiled, knowing that he had finally sensed her desire.

“I have missed you,” she said to him, breathing deeply. His lips caught hers. They were warm and soft, just as she imagined, and Karime returned the kiss eagerly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he embraced her tightly, his arms circling her waist.

He propped her against a tree and she gasped at his roughness. Her legs found their way around his waist and she writhed against him, feeling his manhood on her. He growled at her movements. It did not seem like something Zahran would do, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. Everything felt right.

He nipped at her neck, pulling at her dress to expose her shoulder, and she moaned softly, tugging at his hair. He must have grown it out, though she had never seen him with it long before.

“You do not know how many times I’ve dreamed of this. Of you,” she said softly, and he laughed. He must have known then. All of the times she was around him, he knew.

Zahran reached down and found his way under her dress, careful not to drop her. He ran a hand up her thigh, brushing his fingers along her skin lightly. She shivered at his touch, giggling.

His hand found its way between their bodies. He stroked the sensitive skin, somehow rough and soft at the same time. It felt so different from when she touched herself, but she wanted more. It was glorious, just as the women had said.

A sweet ache ran up her back as he kept touching her. She moaned and gasped, biting at his lips gently. He turned his palm upward and slid a finger inside of her, while his thumb still played at her center.

Karime had never felt anything like that before. It was shocking and amazing and scary all at once. She inhaled sharply and opened her eyes.

She did not remember Zahran having blue eyes. Or light, long hair.

But Hvitserk did.

Karime stared at him, her head muddled. Why was he kissing her? Where did Zahran go?

She then realized her mistake, pulling away from him. She had imagined Zahran. But it was Hvitserk all along.

He trailed after her, bringing her body against his once more. He kissed her, but she pulled away again.

“I’m sorry,” she said to him clumsily, in his language. His brow furrowed at that. He looked confused by her words.

“I’m sorry. For the mistake. I thought you were someone else. I did not want to trick you,” she said in her tongue. “I don’t know what I did to you, Hvitserk. I don’t know why you keep finding me. Why you keep seeking me. What have I done to you?” she pleaded.

He stared back at her, dazed.

“Of course you do not understand me,” she said to him. “Why would you? But it is okay. Your brother has told me that Lady Arwa lives. You spared her. And I thank you for that.”

Hvitserk gazed back at her silently, watching her as she spoke. He tilted his head and brought his hand up to her mouth, running a finger across her lips. He smiled at her and started laughing deliriously. Karime started to laugh when she heard something shuffle behind her.

She turned as saw Ivar, watching them, murder plain in his eyes.


	11. No More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T/W: There is a suicide mention in this chapter

“Please,” she said to him, holding his gaze warily.

It was the only thing that came to her mind, to possibly calm him. Ivar ignored her plea, a tremor running through his body as he approached them slowly.

Karime looked back at Hvitserk quickly. He was no longer seemed relaxed and open; his eyes looked almost steely, as he stared back at his brother.

Ivar crawled to them with a speed she had never seen before. It stunned her. He swept around Karime, and lunged at Hvitserk, who seemed to be welcoming the attack.

She watched as they fought one another, skin hitting skin. Karime ran to them, pulling at Ivar’s shoulders.

“No! No, Ivar!” she yelled, trying to pull him away. He shoved her back, not even turning, and she hit the earth, hard. Karime rose immediately, lodging herself between them, hoping to stop the punches and headbutting. Hvitserk held her, surprised by her sudden presence. He gripped at her waist gently, trying move her aside .

Karime suddenly felt a sharp throbbing, right at her jaw. Her mouth tasted metallic. She reached up, and saw blood on her fingers.

Ivar had struck her.

Karime raised her eyes. His face looked blank, his brow starting to furrow in confusion and surprise. He had struck her. A feeling of disbelief flit across her mind before it was flooded with a blinding wrath she had never sensed before.

Without thinking, she raised her hand and struck him back, as hard as she could.

His skin was warm, and surprisingly soft. The blood that was on her hand streaked across his face as her body connected with his.

She did not wait for his reaction after the blow. Karime shoved at Hvitserk, and rose, stomping away from them. She thought she heard Hvitserk laughing, but she did not even care.

Karime wandered through the trees, unsure of where exactly she was. If she had not been so full of rage, she knew she would be scared. It was dark. But she could not think clearly at the moment.

 _How dare he?_ How dare he strike her? How dare he think he could control her, own her?

She was not his. She was not anyone’s.

Karime was aware of where she stood in this life. She was a servant, and always would be. But she also knew she was not one to easily submit to anyone’s will. It was not her nature.

Lady Arwa had always treated her with respect. Always. She always recognized that Karime, and the rest of the servants, were people. They were all like family to her lady.

It was different here, in this place they called Kattegat. She was no better than a bitch to these men, it seemed, one they wanted to mount and tame.

Karime’s eyes filled with tears, of anger and despair. She wanted to hit him again. She wanted to hit him, hit all of them, until the ground ran red with their blood.

That made her sob. She had never struck anyone in her life.

These people were making her feel things, do things, she never imagined. It made her feel completely adrift.

She kept sobbing and walking, as the trees became less dense. Karime could see the huts of the town, unlit, and followed their outline. She made her way inside the servants’ quarters, realizing how cold she actually was.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she looked around, groups of bodies nestled together. Nour was asleep, tucked under some furs. Karime walked and sat on the ground next to her, anger spiking again. Would she die in this place? Would she be here for the rest of her life, feeling prisoner to these people? To Ivar?

She lied next to Nour, hugging her friend. Perhaps not, she thought. Perhaps she would take her own life, seize them of the satisfaction of having any control over her.

Or perhaps she would live. She would live and fight against them, these brothers. And they would not break her.

* * *

She woke to the feeling of her mouth aching. Her eyes opened and Thora was crouched in front of her, looking worried.

“Hello,” Karime said to her, and Thora’s eyes widened. She smiled and said something much too fast for Karime to understand. She shook her head, and Thora smiled at her apologetically.

She sat up and touched her face gingerly, the pain from the hit spreading to the rest of her head. She had imagined how strong Ivar was, had had a taste of it when they initially met. But truly being on the receiving end of his physical force was entirely different.

Thora reached up and gently moved her face to the side, assessing the swelling and bruising. Karime saw her purse her lips and shake her head. Thora said something under her breath, as if she were cursing.

Karime was given herbs and tonics, which eased the pain slightly. Amal passed by them and immediately came to her side, her creased face concerned.

“What have they done to you, my child? Did they take you as well?” she asked Karime.

“It’s fine, it was just an accident,” was her reply, her voice low and gravelly. She did not want Amal, or anyone else to worry. They all had bigger concerns.

And it was not entirely false. Ivar had not meant to hit her. He had been aiming to strike his brother, and she had been in the way. But she was not interested in what his intentions were. She was actually hurt, and thinking back to the night before only inflamed temper.

They helped her stand, and Thora helped her bathe and dress, picking leaves out of her tangled hair. She then led Karime to the stables, where she taught her to care for the horses. Thora said something, and Karime was able to piece her message together. She thought that feeding them would put Karime as ease, as they did for her. The beasts did calm her, and she felt her mind and body lose their tension.

She noticed Mahir approaching, and Karime rolled her eyes as she fed one of the horses. She knew why he was seeking her.

“Hello, Karime,” he said amiably.

She looked up at him. “Mahir,” she said flatly.

“Master Ivar is requesting your presence.”

“I mean no offense to you, Mahir, but you can tell Master Ivar,” she spat his name derisively, “that I will not be joining him. Ever. My place is here, tending to the horses with the other servants.” She pointed to Thora, to emphasize her point.

Mahir gazed back at her patiently. He stepped toward her and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Karime. He is not someone you want to defy. He is a Ragnarsson. And the cruelest one of them all,” he said gently.

“Yes, I am well aware,” she said harshly, showing him her face. Mahir creased his brow. “And I do not care who he is, Mahir. I have obeyed his demands, too many of them. I refuse to submit to him any longer.”

“I am not sure you have a choice, Karime,” he said, his voice solemn.

“I am certain I do,” she replied, staring back at him.


	12. Parts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while since I've posted. The past few weeks have been hard, and I also really struggled with getting this chapter out. I'm not 100% happy with it, since I'm not sure if I got out what I meant to get out, but here it is.

“She hit him?”

Ivar could hear the amusement in Ubbe’s voice. It made his body heat up in shame and irritation. Did Hvitserk really have to tell him what had happened in the woods?

“Yes!” he heard him tell their older brother, chuckling. “She was so angry. And then she pushed me too!”

“Karime has spirit; almost as if she were one of us,” Ubbe stated, quaffing his mead. They were inside the cabin, facing one another. Ivar sat outside, out of sight, listening to their conversation.

“Yes. I like that about her. Spirit,” Hvitserk added. “Anyone who can stand up to Ivar will certainly catch my eye.”

He lowered his head, a semblance of a smile playing at his lips. Ivar could at least agree with his brother on that point. She did have spirit. While it could irk him, as Karime was quite defiant for a thræll, it amused him as well, even thrilled him.

But he thought back to that night, when he saw her with Hvitserk, and it still angered and embarrassed him.

He had not meant to strike Karime the way he did. He had not meant to hit her at all. She had appeared suddenly, right as his clenched hand aimed for Hvitserk’s face.

He had stared in shock, and sensed something else, as her mouth bloomed red. He was not sure what is was he felt, but before he could figure it out, Karime had hit him back. And yet, the feeling had only intensified. He knew he was surprised, and angry, but there was something else, something he could not make sense of, that had snaked its way into the pit of his stomach when the blood had stained her lips.

He was confused now. Ivar did not know what the feeling was, or why it flowed so intensely in that moment, when he had sensed nothing but fury before. His anger and confusion and that…something was dizzying. He wanted it all out of him.

Ivar could just not make sense of his draw to her. It was not like he was flooded with a single feeling that consumed him. One moment, he was beyond annoyed with Karime, and wanted to strangle her; the next, he wanted to bend her over and take her right then and there. He felt completely off balance.

At times, perhaps felt he really did want to hurt her, for making him feel the way he did. For making him feel as though he had no control. He thought she needed to learn how it felt, to be consumed. To feel as though one was being punished, but wanting it all the same.

Ivar knew he simply wanted her. He wanted to lick the blood from her lips, and feel her skin again, her scent. But he also knew she was angry with him. Ivar wanted to tell her that he had not meant to strike her. He wanted her to know that was not how he wanted to touch her.

“Have you ever spoken to Karime?” Ubbe asked suddenly. Ivar waited for the response, but Hvitserk was silent for a long time.

“No,” he finally stated.

“Not once?”

Ivar heard nothing, so he assumed his brother was shaking his head.

“She is a servant, Hvitserk. She knows nothing about our world. You cannot approach her as you might approach our women. Did you not see what happened when Ivar tried to speak with her? She almost drowned. She could have died.”

“That is because Ivar is crazy. He scared her into the water!”

“And what must she think of you? Huh? A raving man who only seeks to grope at her for his own pleasure? Is that any better?”

Hvitserk sniffed and sipped his mead, and Ivar felt smug hearing Ubbe’s words. Perhaps the scolding would deter Hvitserk from pursuing her again. But would it stop her from seeking out his brother? Did she want him back?

“Try to speak to her next time. Make her feel at ease. She will open up to you on her own. You will see,” Ubbe said.

“How?” Hvitserk asked.

“Ivar managed. He found the trader at the marketplace. If he can do something, you can as well. Do not make her feel like she is nothing. Do not make her feel like her only purpose is to please you.”

“Is that not her purpose, as a servant? She must do what I want.”

“Then you will never truly have her if you believe that. Do you want property?” Ubbe posed, “Or do you want a real woman?”

The cabin was silent for a long while. Ivar did not think Hvitserk was wrong. Karime was a servant. She was meant to do as any of them demanded, even if that meant giving herself to the each one of them an infinite amount of times, if they so pleased.

But he thought over what Ubbe had said. Ivar wanted her to want him, of her own volition. He did not want to see fear or repulsion or anger in her eyes. He wanted her to feel exactly as he felt. He wanted Karime to give herself to him, all of herself. Ivar knew she would not do so if forced.

Ivar heard his brothers leaving and waited, before moving. He found Mahir and asked where to find Karime. The young trader led him to the stables, where she had stayed since the night in the woods.

Ivar saw her roll her eyes as they approached. He wanted to grab her face to force her gaze onto him, but he remained at Mahir’s side, clenching his jaw in frustration. They stopped a good distance from Karime as she fed one of the beasts and ignored them.

“Hello, Karime,” Mahir greeted her. She said nothing, and continued to tend to the horse.

“Tell her to look at me,” Ivar said. Mahir translated, and Karime did not pause, choosing instead to scoff lightly.

“Tell her I did not mean to strike her,” he told Mahir. The trader repeated the words, and Karime’s movements slowed. She turned her head to look at him, and said something quick, her voice low and sharp.

“She said, ‘The wisest is the one who can forgive,’ Your Grace. But she says she is not so wise.”

“Well, what will it take then? What does she want? Who does she think she is, to make demands of me?” Ivar burst.

Mahir repeated his words calmly, but they only seemed to inflame her mood. Her eyes grew wide she yelled back at him, waving her arms in the air. She kept on, her voice growing louder and more hurt, from what Ivar could sense. He watched, as her eyes grew watery and her lip trembled. Karime was more than angry. She was in pain.

He did not know what to make of what he saw. Part of him did not want her to feel it, any of it. Ivar was close to ordering her to stop feeling it immediately.

And another part within him was not moved by it at all.

Was it his place to care about how someone beneath his station felt? He was not sure. He remembered what his brother had said, and only felt torn. How could he want someone, and not be concerned about how they felt at all? It almost made him want to laugh.

Ivar watched as she tried to calmed herself, huffing as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. A thought ran through his head.

“Tell her not to move, then leave us,” he instructed Mahir.

“Yes, Your Grace,” he responded, then did as he was told. Ivar waited until he was out of sight, then crawled forward, slowly. Karime began to retreat, but he stopped as soon as she moved and met her gaze. He told her silently to stay. That he would not harm her.

A while passed before he moved forward again. He saw her shaking as he approached, but she let him come closer all the same.

Ivar reached up slowly and grabbed one of her decorated hands. He felt her clench it slightly, but moved it to his face anyway, risking the chance that she might strike him again. Her palm was cool and soft against his cheek, and he nuzzled into it.

“I’m sorry,” Ivar whispered to her, kissing her wrist lightly. Karime gasped when his lips touched her skin. He opened his eyes and met hers.

Her lips were parted slightly, and she looked confused. _Better_ , he thought to himself. He ran his thumb across the back of her hand, watching her face.

“I will not hurt you again,” he said to her, wanting as much as he could to mean it.


	13. Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Bjorn, and some mention of Thorunn! I loved Thorunn, and was sad with what happened to her. She needed a lot of support, and I don't think she ever really got it. Anyway, this is another somewhat "sentimental" chapter, so I'm definitely hesitant about it, but it just seemed right to write.

Days passed since Ivar had last seen her. Karime said nothing after their last encounter, only stared at him blankly when he voiced his apology to her.

He felt unsure afterward. Ivar wanted her to react, as she had done so many times before. But Karime was still, her eyes wide and intense and fixed solely on him.

He had retreated after a while, leaving her alone with the horses. He thought perhaps if he pulled away, she would seek him.

But she did not.

Ivar had eventually searched for her, asked Thora and Mahir where she was, where he could find her. Yet every time he followed their words, her presence was still missed.

He had even asked Hvitserk about Karime, the desperation inside him growing ugly, like a fetid tree.

“I do not know where she is,” his brother said casually.

“Are you lying to me again?” Ivar asked, lips curling around his teeth. Hvitserk stared at him, an almost bored expression on his face.

“No, Ivar. I am not lying to you again. I am sure you would know if I had seen her,” he told Ivar pointedly.

He started to feel a dull ache in his chest as the days continued to pass. _Where is she?_ Ivar thought to himself. He did as he thought she wanted. He told her he would not hurt her again. And he did not have to. He could have tied her up and had her whimpering instead, her feelings and wants mere afterthoughts. So why did she disappear? It seemed as though no matter what he did, it did not suffice.

Ivar had taken to sitting alone at the docks, for hours. He could not stomach being around anyone else. The ache he sensed had now turned sour, into something much more sinister that he could not suppress. Ivar wallowed in it, letting the acrid feeling consume him.

“I have not seen you in many days, brother,” a light voice spoke behind him. He did not bother to turn, only rolled his eyes at Bjorn’s sudden, and unwelcome, presence.

“I wish to be alone,” Ivar responded, running the tip of his blade under his fingernails absentmindedly. Bjorn said nothing, only stood next to him, watching the dark waves. They were side by side for a while; Ivar wishing he would just go away and leave him be as he normally did.

“You miss the slave girl,” Bjorn said suddenly. Ivar’s heart pulsed rapidly at his brother’s words. He turned to look him. “You may not believe me, brother, but I know what it feels like.”

Ivar narrowed his eyes. “And how is it you know that?”

“Do you not remember Thorunn?” Bjorn asked. Ivar lowered his head, trying to recall a face to match the name. _Thorunn_. He had certainly heard of the woman. Bjorn’s first wife. The stubborn shield maiden. Dead Siggy’s mother.

“What about her?” Ivar asked.

“She was my first love. And was not born free. Thorunn was an ambátt when we met, and still was when I fell in love with her. It was through your mother’s kindness that she became a free woman.”

Ivar suppressed a smile. Of course Aslaug would do such a thing. She was painted as haughty, inhuman even, but Aslaug cared. Much was borne on her shoulders, things that she could not bear at times, but she was made of love and compassion at her core. He knew that most of all.

“She was beautiful and strong and fierce. She was truly Viking-”

Ivar sighed rudely. “Why are you telling me this?”

Bjorn looked at him, the way someone might glance at a pest. “Are you not in the same place with this girl?”

“Am I?” Ivar shot back, his brow raising. “I am not in love with a slave,” he stated snidely, his gaze returning to the water.

Bjorn gave him another look. “Perhaps not,” he responded, though his words seemed to belie his true meaning. “But from what I have heard of this girl, she reminds me of Thorunn.”

Ivar was silent, but curious to hear more.

“Thorunn fought me on almost everything. It felt exhausting at times. I did not understand why she did not just do as I said.”

Bjorn paused, a smile forming on his lips.

“But I liked it, deep down. I loved her for it. She was born a slave, but she was free long before Aslaug’s gesture. I knew that. I did not want to see, but I knew it. And I think she knew as well. She assumed the life of a free woman so naturally. And that is why she left. Her life was hers. She always knew. And now I know as well.”

Ivar turned to look at his brother. He raised his brows, as if to say, _So what?_

Bjorn rolled his eyes. “Ivar. I thought you much more clever than this.”

Ivar only raised his arm, urging Bjorn on impatiently.

“This slave girl, I think she is the same as Thorunn. Do not make the mistake of thinking you own her. That is the quickest way to lose her. You must let her be. You must see her for who she truly is. You can force her to do whatever you please, but she will never truly be yours if you do. It does not matter where she goes, whether she is free or not. She will never belong to anyone.”

“What is this nonsense? First Ubbe, now you. She is a slave! She has no say in anything. And it does not matter anyway. I am not like you. I would never be so foolish as to fall in love with a servant, and a disobedient one at that. She is nothing to me,” Ivar spat suddenly.

Bjorn only stared at him, a look of pity staining his features.

“Okay, Ivar,” was all he said in response, before turning and leaving him alone.

Bjorn was right, and he hated him for it. He knew this was why Karime had disappeared.

Every time Ivar expected something from her, she would always surprise him. He knew he could not control her, and it maddened him. It maddened him and it intoxicated him. But now, she was nowhere to be found.

He made his way back to the cabin as dusk approached, hoping his brothers would be in the Great Hall with everyone else. He saw lights inside, and let out an irritated sigh, slowing his pace. Ivar pushed the door open brusquely, and lifted himself into the cabin, not even bothering to glance up. He found his way to a seat, his brow furrowing at the calm and quiet.

“Hello.”

He paused at the voice. It was soft and low and slightly accented. He looked up abruptly and his eyes met large brown pools, lit warmly by the light of the fire in the hearth.

 _Karime_.


	14. Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up a bit between Karime and Ivar. I'm not so good at writing smut, so I'm easing into it. Hopefully this chapter was okay, and then when I get into the good stuff, I won't struggle so much haha.

“Where have you been? I have looked everywhere for you,” she heard him say, his beautiful eyes wide and searching.

Karime opened her mouth to respond, but her lips were faster than her mind. The words of his language, new and swirling in her head, mingled with her native tongue. She paused, taking a moment to form her thoughts into speech he could comprehend.

“Mahir. He…teaches me, to speak with you,” she responded slowly. Karime bit her bottom lip, unsure if she had spoken correctly. She wished the young trader was with her now, to guide her. But she had wanted to do this alone.

Ivar stared back her, his eyes growing even larger. “Why?” he inquired.

After he had said sorry to her, she was shocked. Ivar was the last person from whom she expected to receive an apology. He was all tempest and thunder. That was the Ivar he had shown her. But when he came to her, eyes soft, and lips even softer against her skin, it stirred something inside her.

She wanted to see more of this Ivar. The one who ran his fingers softly over hers. The one who leaned into her touch. The one who did not take, but asked and waited.

Karime did not know why she wanted it. It even frightened her. She wondered if it had been some sort of trick. But there was no smirk or rising of his brow. He simply looked up at her, his face open and pleading.

“I ask him. All night, he teaches me. And you. You…say sorry to me. I know…you… not say it,” Karime responded. She saw him lower his gaze and roll his jaw at that; she knew she was right. He was not accustomed to offering apologies, especially to those below his station.

“I am scared, here. You scare me. Hvitserk…scare me,” she said earnestly. “I am…” she began, clutching at her chest. “I am lost,” Karime said, lifting her eyes to his.

Ivar stared back at her, listening. She wondered if he understood what she was trying to say. That she did not feel like herself. That she was out of place, but tethered at the same time. That she feared him. And hated him. And loved staring at his stunning face. And hated herself for being drawn to him still, despite everything. She did not know how to paint that picture for him. But she went to Mahir so that she could start. So that she could try.

Karime stared back at him, mashing her lip between her teeth. She released it when he glanced down, and he continued to stare at her mouth as she ran her tongue across the flesh quickly. He met her gaze again, and his eyes seemed darker, the blue much less noticeable than before.

Ivar crawled to her suddenly, his blown out eyes never leaving hers. Her breath quickened slightly, but she stayed, meeting his gaze steadily. He sat himself right next to her on the bed, his breath caressing her face.

He reached up around the nape of her neck, gripping her hair roughly, but not enough to hurt. Yet.

Karime gabbed the sheets tightly, unsure of what he was about to do. She felt scared again. Perhaps she should not have found him. Perhaps the whole thing really had been a cruel trick he was playing on her.

“Ivar,” she pleaded softly, looking up at him right before his lips met hers. They were full and soft, just as they had felt on her wrist the last time they were together. But this was even better. The feel of him, this way, sent a jolt through her body that rushed up and down and made her head feel light.

He placed his other hand on her waist, and squeezed, pulling her close to him. Karime laid a hand on his chest tentatively, and felt how solid it was underneath. She then wrapped her arms around his neck, giving in to the kiss.

She felt him smile against her, and it only urged her on. Karime ran her hands through his silky hair, surprised by how soft it was. Everything about Ivar was soft. It made no sense to her. He looked so hard and menacing, and sensed he relished that image of himself. But under her fingers, he was all wondrously soft.

His skin, like his lips, was warm and inviting. Even the shaved regions of his skull were smooth and pleasing, under her touch.  _And one might not ever know_ , she thought to herself. 

“What a contradiction you are,” Karime said into his mouth as they continued to kiss.

“What did you say?” he asked her, moving to explore her neck. She felt his breath heavy across her skin, and it made her shiver. Ivar tightened his grip on her hair, and moved her head to the side, running his nose and lips along the flesh.

“Nothing,” she responded in his language, her eyes rolling closed as his teeth nipped the spot behind her earlobe. Her breath hitched, and he did it again, harder this time. She squirmed in his arms, and he chuckled, the vibrations rumbling across her skin.

“Tell me what you said,” he whispered to her, his voice thick and sultry in her ear.

“I see you. You look so hard. But you are soft. You are so soft. It is nice,” Karime said, thinking it was the best she could do, with the words she had learned. She traced her fingers along his neck, along his jaw, to emphasize her point.

Ivar pulled her into his lap abruptly, and her eyes grew wide and hesitant. “I am many things. You will soon learn that,” he said to her, shifting her skirt up her thighs. He glided his fingers across the expanse of her leg, until it landed on the curve of her bare waist.

She moved, rocking her hips against his slowly. The space between her legs was inflamed, desperate for some kind of touch. She wanted to grab his hand and force it there, but something stopped her.

Ivar met her eyes. “Did you like that?”

Karime gazed back him, a serious look on her face. She nodded. He grinned wolfishly, and removed his hand, reaching to pull and loosen the ties at the front of her dress.

“Have you ever lied with a man before?” Ivar asked her, moving the fabric open. Karime stared down. She could feel him watching her, and saw his gaze roaming over her heaving chest from the side of her vision.

Ivar looked up again as she shook her head, her eyes still not meeting his.

“Do you not want to lie with me? Is that why you are so shy?” he questioned, trailing his hand between her half exposed breasts. She gave an involuntary whine and inched away from him slightly, his touch only stoking the heat between her thighs. Ivar hummed and smiled at the sound.

“I want to know you,” Karime said, finally looking at him. “I like…you touching me. But I know you first.”

He paused, and his features darkened suddenly. “Did you know Hvitserk when you let him touch you?”

“Not Hvitserk,” Karime replied immediately, giving him a challenging look. She tilted her head and tapped her temple. “Zahran. Home.”

Ivar’s brow furrowed, but his face softened a bit. She stared at him until she was satisfied that he understood her meaning.

“Very well. You will know me. And I you. And you will forget this Zahran,” he stated, his tongue curling around the name oddly, “and my brother. You shall see.”

He smirked, then thrust his hips up into hers roughly as the hand on her neck pushed her body down. Her breath caught at the movement, and she narrowed her eyes at him, though it felt amazing. The smile he gave her told her he knew, and it was only a taste of what was to come.


	15. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More tension between Ivar and Karime. Normal, in budding relationships, but they get into a pretty philosophical argument. I def wanted to touch upon the fact that Ivar does awful things, and kind of gets away with them most of the time. Karime is not the type of person to just sit back and take that at face value. She is pretty quick to point things out and hold people accountable, as we know. 
> 
> So, it's not a passionate argument, but it makes both of them think for sure. Pretty deep, so I hope I was able to convey it in a readable manner.

Karime learned more of the language as the days passed. And more about Ivar.

Spending time with him, and learning from Mahir, made her feel more at ease speaking with the natives of Kattegat. She felt less like an outsider, though she knew her status would not ever truly change.

Yet, Karime did not feel like a servant. Her days were filled with teachings and caresses; they left little time to fulfill her duties. 

Hours were spent with Ivar. Sometimes she would rise, and he would be waiting for her, outside the servants’ quarters. Or night would fall, everyone chasing slumber, and they would still be awake, murmuring to one another.

His eyes filled with sadness and rage when he told her of his mother, who ruled as queen of Kattegat before she was killed. From the way he spoke of her, Karime knew she had been beautiful, and had passed her pulchritude onto her son. His father had been king – fierce and astute, as Ivar was, and estranged. His life had also been taken, by another monarch in another land. She learned of his family’s history; his mother’s gift; the tense but eventually improved relationship with his father; the final journey they took together. He was proud of his lineage, and the future to come.

He learned of her life with Arwa, who serve as Karime’s guide since she had been orphaned in her youth. She told him of her home - the warmth, the colors, the sense of belonging. Karime had little knowledge of an ancestry to look back to, but Arwa, the wives, the servants, the children – they were her family.

He demanded to know of Zahran - who he was, what he meant to Karime. She told him he was Umar’s son, that they had known one another since they were children. It seemed to irritate Ivar, hearing this, learning that they had been close. She then said that Zahran was betrothed to another, that he knew nothing of her infatuation. Her words seemed to assuage the tension, and Ivar called him a fool, for not choosing her.

Karime told him of her parents, the little she remembered of them. They were not royalty, like his. Her father had been a merchant, and taught her what she knew of numbers. Her mother was a maker of beautiful gowns, which her father sold to richer women, including Lady Arwa’s mother.

They had sailed once to another country, when she was eight, to vend their wares. It was the last time Karime had seen them.

There were times she would have to pull away from him during their moments together, for whatever reason; either to tend to Nour, or to see Thora, or Mahir, or the rest of the women. His hands were constantly on her, doting and possessive, and Karime would soothe his worries, convincing him that she would always return.

She was feeding the horses, a random break of time she had carved for herself, when Margrethe and Ubbe approached her. Their faces were worried, and she paused, her eyes searching as they greeted her.

“Go on,” Ubbe urged, and Margrethe pursed her lips, looking unsure. Karime gave her a small smile and tilted her head, waiting for the girl to speak. 

“Please. Be careful with Ivar,” she whispered, her blue eyes apprehensive.

“Careful?” Karime asked, her brow wrinkling. She knew that Ivar’s temper was not one of his better qualities. But the fear in Margrethe’s eyes told Karime she was touching on something deeper.

“My brother can be…..unpredictable,” Ubbe stated, placing a hand on Margrethe’s shoulder. “He does not know where his limits lie.”

“What it is you are meaning?”

Ubbe looked at Margrethe. Her eyes were cast downward, and she was still. She then shook her head, refusing to speak any further, and Ubbe rubbed her back.

She watched the pair. “He did something?” she asked, and Margrethe only shook her head, closing her eyes as if in pain. Karime stared at her, taking hold of her arm and squeezing it lightly, giving some semblance of comfort. She then took off, searching for Ivar.

He was alone in the forge, ash coating his face and fingers. Karime watched as he worked, his hands deft as he handled the workpiece. She walked to him slowly, taking a deep breath, and laid a hand at his back. He looked up and a soft smirk replaced the frown that had tugged on his features.

Karime loved looking at him. His face was so expressive, every movement told her a new story. _Does he realize how beautiful he is?_ she wondered. _Does he see how his loveliness is so captivating? So dangerous?_ It almost hurt her, sometimes, to look at him.

She turned and knelt, facing him. His hand immediately reached for her neck. He ran his thumb along her jaw, and she could not help but tense. He noticed, and his smile faded.

“Ivar,” she began, “You hurt Margrethe before?”

His thumb stopped. She glanced up at him, and his face was blank, a storm slowly morphing behind his eyes.

“What did she tell you?”

“She said nothing. Could not. So I ask you. What happened?”

Ivar was silent for a long time before he spoke. She watched him patiently, unsure of what he would say. She did not want to believe that he had done anything to Margrethe, but she felt the pang under her rib. And Margrethe’s eyes reflected a distinct kind of torment, not gained through simple teasing or unwanted touching. She knew he had done something grave to her.

“I lied with her.”

“What else?” Karime asked immediately, concern still heavy in her tone.

He leaned back, his lips sloping downward. “That does not upset you?”

“You are not mine,” she said, and he furrowed his brow. She saw the hurt shifting in his eyes, and she reached up, gripping the hand at her neck softly.

“I am servant,” she clarified, “I own nothing. No one. What else?”

Ivar blinked at her slowly, regaining his composure. “She did not like it.” He inhaled sharply before he spoke again. “Then I hurt her.”

“How?”

He looked uncomfortable. “I tried to strangle her. I was going to kill her.”

Karime stiffened at his words. It all made sense now. Margrethe’s fear. Ubbe’s concern. They thought he was mad. _They think he will kill me_ , she thought to herself. It made her shudder. 

“Why?”

He met her gaze, face somber, then lowered his head. “You would not understand.”

“Then explain to me,” she urged, gripping his arm tighter.

Ivar rolled his jaw, shame plain in his features. “I cannot…please a woman. Not like other men can. I tried, with Margrethe. I had seen her lie with the rest of my brothers. But she did not like it with me. I wanted to keep her quiet. So I thought I should kill her.” 

Karime nodded. “But she lives?”

“She promised not to tell anyone. But I know she did,” he said, his lip curling in anger.

Karime stared back at him. “But Ivar, you please me, yes? It is no different.”

“It is,” he insisted. “I did not enter you. I cannot…it does not work like it should,” he said, looking uncomfortable again. “But I have learned of other ways,” said suddenly, looking up at her.

Karime did not meet his gaze. There was something else on her mind, something she could not let go of.

“Ivar…you have taken life before?”

“Yes. It is our way,” she heard him say. She knew that would be his reply. She hesitated, before probing him again. 

“And…you like this?” Karime lifted her eyes to his, waiting for his response.

“I do. Does that frighten you?”

She stood slowly and paced before him. “No. It is who you are. If you say you do not like it, but you do - that frightens me.”

He looked up at her, his eyes trying to read her, but she kept on. “When was first time?”

“When I was a boy,” he responded, his gaze fixed on her. “I wanted to play, but the other children were cruel to me. I did not want to kill the boy. I did not know he would die from my axe. I just wanted him away.”

Karime had stopped, and listened to him recall the memory.

“Aslaug said it was not my fault, and-”

“It was, Ivar,” Karime interjected, her tone slightly confused. “It was your fault. Did boy not die? It was your axe. Your hands.”

“I did not mean to kill him!” he argued. “I did not know! Would a mother lie to her child?” 

“You did not know,” she agreed. “Yes. But you have blame. Do not be blind. You are no fool, Ivar.”

He glared at her, his eyes bright and blue. “It is who I am, killing. It is Viking. You said it did not frighten you.”

“It is Viking to deny actions?” she asked loudly, her brow wrinkled. “I accept you like killing. I accept killing is Viking. I accept you. I see you now. That does not frighten me. But you do this thing. Then you say you have no blame. That frightens me. Do you see?”

He only stared at her, and it made her more frustrated. She did not have the words to say what she truly meant. Karime wanted him to see that renouncing any sort of fault on his part was a perilous mentality to have. What could he excuse himself of doing if he continued to think this way? What had he already done?

Karime thought of Margrethe, how scarred she must be. How brave she was for trying to look out for her. She wanted to shake Ivar, make him understand that the people he encountered, that the people he touched were not unscathed. There were lasting effects, and they were there because of him.

Karime met his eyes steadily. “You are not only one in this world, Ivar. All remember what you do to them,” she said solemnly, before leaving the forge to search for Margrethe.


	16. High

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for smut. It's my first real attempt at it, so it's really nothing fancy. I wish I could be more descriptive when I write smut, but I'm just not great at it. I hope the more I try my hand at it, the better it becomes.
> 
> Anyway, had another hard week, but I really wanted to get this chapter out. I hope it does not seem rushed. I might end up adding or changing things, who knows? But for right now, here it is!

Ivar knew that Karime was not angry with him. But things were different.

After their talk in the forge, it seemed as though the light within her had dimmed. She seemed to understand him- _I accept you_ , she had said- when he revealed himself to her. But now he wondered. Did he sicken her? Was she repulsed by him saying that he liked killing? Had she lied to him?

He had heard that she found Margrethe afterward, and shared words with her. What they were he did not know, and did not care to ask. He resented Margrethe even more for approaching Karime in the first place, for causing all of this.

Ivar would still find her and he would talk, incessantly. Karime listened only, nodding her head casually at his stream of words. She did not share. She did not smile. She did not lean into his touch as she used to. She was just there.

“What is the matter? Why are you this way?” he asked, every time they were together. She would only stare, then shake her head.

He did not like this Karime. He would rather her be angry, yelling at him. He would even rather see her in pain than have the lifelessness she presented to him.

Again he stopped seeking her, against his own desires. Ivar hoped that if he let her be, as Ubbe and Bjorn had told him before, she would find her way back to him on her own.

Only a few days passed before he started to feel that ache in his chest. He hated being away from her, hated not knowing what she was doing. He already missed the feel of her; the soft scent of her hair. He missed the low, smooth sound of her voice; how she would run her nails through his scalp. Ivar just wanted her with him. He wanted Karime back, how she used to be.

She was on his mind as he trained with his brothers. His arrows kept flying off on odd directions every time he shot, causing Hvitserk to chuckle under his breath.

Ivar glared at him. He leaned slightly and knocked his brother’s arm with his own right as he released the bow, making him miss. Hvitserk turned, and glared back.

“Spiteful as usual, aren’t we?” 

Ivar only rolled his eyes, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Are you sad because Karime doesn’t want you anymore?” Hvitserk asked, the tone of his voice just barely mocking.

“Who told you that? She never said she did not want me. I am simply letting her be,” said Ivar, repeating the words he had heard- and hated- so many times before.

“No one had to tell me. It is obvious – the way you sulk about like a little boy, because she has left you,” Hvitserk grinned, almost wickedly. “It happens. Women can be capricious, you will learn. That is, if any other woman comes your way.”

“Is that right?” Ivar posed, his eyes narrowing. “Is that what you told yourself when she did not want you, and chose me instead? Did you learn that when you were touching her, while she thought of another man?”

Hvitserk stiffened visibly at his words. His lips parted and his brow began to crease in confusion. Ivar stared at him, a cruel smile now shifting onto his face.

“Ah, you did not know? Yes, Hvitserk. She was not moaning and sliding against you because she had finally succumbed to you. Karime thought you were someone else. She hoped you were someone else. And from what she told me, he is nothing like you,” Ivar revealed, his tone dismissive.

For a moment, Hvitserk’s face was a mask of anger, and hurt. But in a flash it morphed back into its slightly cocksure, good-natured façade.

“It does not matter,” he stated, shrugging. “She was not thinking of you then either. And she is certainly not thinking of you now.”

Ivar exhaled sharply, rolling his jaw. His brother was right.

“Fine. Pursue her then,” he challenged. “I insist, and will not interfere. Then we shall see whom she it is she truly wants. I doubt it will be you.”

Hvitserk chuckled again. “I have never stopped pursuing her, brother. I only changed my tactics.”

Ivar stared at him menacingly. _What did he mean by that?_ he wondered. They kept training in silence, both continuing to miss their shots.

* * *

 Karime did not seem to be hiding from him, as he feared. Ivar would see her - tending to the horses, fetching water - and every time he would watch her. He wanted desperately to approach, to touch her. But he held back, and only watched from afar, where he knew she could not see him.

It brought him some twisted form of solace to see that she was not happy. Her skin was pallid, and her eyes were weighed down by dark circles. Her hair, which usually tumbled down her back in soft curls, was flat and dry. She looked miserable.

He hoped it was as he felt. He hoped she looked that way she did because she missed him, as he missed her.

Ivar watched one morning as Karime roamed through the market. He was not as discreet as he had been before, but the hood of his cloak covered him enough that she would not recognize him.

He stared as she walked with Thora, her face disinterested in her surroundings. She stopped suddenly in front of a trader selling foreign cloths. Thora looked back and called out to her, but Karime ignored the girl. She reached out and touched the intricate patterns, almost lovingly. It seemed as though they were familiar to her.

She stared so deeply that she was unaware Hvitserk had approached her. Ivar wanted to roar at him, to keep him away from her, but he kept silent, curious of the display before him.

Karime glanced up at Hvitserk and immediately bowed her head, taking a step from him. He quickly closed the space between them, and said something that Ivar could not hear. She looked up at Hvitserk sharply, and he grinned back at her. Ivar could not see her face, but he was dying to know what she was thinking.

His brother handed something to Karime, urging her to take it. She grabbed it hesitantly, and Hvitserk’s smile grew even wider. He said one last thing before nodding, and walking away. Karime stood, unmoving, until Thora walked to her back, making her turn.

Ivar saw the girl whisper something in Karime’s ear. They both looked down at what Hvitserk had given her. She pulled at the cloth gently to reveal a small cake, just large enough to fit in both of her palms, decorated with apples and almonds and drizzled with honey. A bright, white myrtle flower adorned its side.

Ivar saw Thora’s eyes widen. She seemed to gasp, then laughed, turning her head to glance at Karime. She stared at the cake, looking almost confused, then glanced behind her, watching Hvitserk retreat. Thora started bouncing up and down excitedly, and Karime turned back to her, giving a small smile before staring at the cake again.

Ivar felt a pang in his chest as he watched her. He was feeling so many things – anger at Hvitserk, of course, for taking him up on his dare. And envy. He was embarrased that he had not thought of getting Karime something so thoughtful. _How had Hvitserk known she liked sweet things?_

He was fearful and sad, that this could be the start of her slipping away from him. _Would she really choose him? Would she dismiss every moment we spent together, for Hvitserk?_

They walked right past him as they left the market and Ivar ducked his head, hiding his face while still trying to hear their words.

“First Ivar, now Hvitserk!” Thora exclaimed. “How exciting. What have you done for the princes to pursue you like this, Karime? We all thought Margrethe was special. They have all shared her. Perhaps they mean to share you as well? Would you want that? Margrethe seemed to enjoy it, mostly. I would only be so lucky if one of the Ragnarssons even looked my way.”

 _No_ , _you stupid woman_ , Ivar thought immediately. _We do not mean to share her. She is mine._

Karime said nothing as they kept walking. That unsettled him even more.

* * *

Ivar’s eyes never left Karime as she wove through the Great Hall. She seemed tired, but still smiled politely as she served those who dined and drank.

Lagertha was receiving guests from a smaller kingdom, and all were dressed in their finery, under her instruction. The servants as well were done up to impress, to show that even the most lowly of people in Kattegat were treated generously.

Karime’s long hair was fixed in a crown of braids, dark tendrils framing her face. Her eyes were rimmed in black, and Ivar had almost gasped when he saw her. He did not bother to look at anyone else in the hall that night. He could only see her.

The Usurper had stressed the importance of making allies, rather than enemies, though Ivar knew she only did so out of fear. She had said so herself, that Kattegat was worthy of envy. He knew that she would fight, if that were what it came to. Lagertha would always fight, even against those who posed no threat.

He gripped the handle of his knife when he saw Karime standing near Hvitserk, farther down the table. His brother looked up at her and grinned as she leaned to fill his horn. He whispered something to her, playing with a strand of her hair, and she suppressed a smile.

“She is very beautiful, brother. I can see why you are so drawn to her,” Ivar heard Ubbe say.

“She is much more than that,” he replied almost defensively.

“I am glad you realize this,” said his brother. “Does she know you think this of her?”

“Of course she does.”

Ubbe nodded. “It seems our brother is making that clear as well. But you do not have to fight with him over her.”

“What are you saying?”

“I am saying, we have all lied with Margrethe. Perhaps Karime would agree to the same arrangement, and you and Hvitserk can stop your quarreling.”

“It makes no difference if she would agree. I do not want this,” Ivar stated abruptly, raising his horn at Karime as she passed by them. The only reason he had wanted Margrethe was because he wished to be included, to be like his brothers. Of course he had liked observing her, liked watching and feeling her curves under his hand when she served them. He wanted what they had shared; he wanted to be a part of that. 

This was different. Whatever he had with Karime went beyond pleasure. Unlike Margrethe, she stirred something within him. He did not know what it was, but he could not let it go. He refused. And he would not let anyone take it from him, not even his brothers.

Karime paused when he beckoned her, then approached him slowly, her eyes forlorn. She bent to fill his horn and he felt the warmth radiating off of her. Ivar was unable to resist placing his hand at the small of her back.

He leaned into her, and her sweet scent enveloped him. “Meet me in the woods, after the feast,” he ordered. Karime turned and looked at him, her dark eyes boring into his.

“Please,” he whispered, hating how he sounded. Like he was desperate. Like he needed her.

She cast her eyes downward, then nodded after a moment. Ivar exhaled in relief, and watched her rise and walk away from him.

It seemed to take forever. Ivar tapped his knife against the table; toyed with his food. He fidgeted in his seat until he could no longer wait, and finally he met Karime’s gaze, silently telling her it was time.

His heart raced as he waited for her. He was not sure what he would say. He did not care. He only wanted her close to him.

When he heard light footsteps his stomach tightened and he turned. Karime stood behind him, her hair failing around her shoulders. Ivar stared at her, struck by how the moon’s rays cast over her face.

“Come here,” he commanded.

She pursed her lips, but grabbed her skirt, moving toward him slowly. She went to sit at his side, but Ivar grabbed her hand so that she was over his body, straddling him. Karime met his gaze, but he could not seem to read her. He reached up, running his fingers through her loose hair.

He lowered his hand to her nape slowly, then gripped her hair hard, pulling her head back. She made no sound, only stared as she reached up to grab his arm. Ivar bought his lips close to her ear and he felt her shiver. 

“Do not leave me again,” he told her, his voice a mixture of venom and agony. They both knew she had not left him physically. But she had not been present. The Karime he knew retreated somewhere he could not follow, and had left a corpse in her place.

Her breath was shallow, and her eyes were intense as she gazed back at him. She brought her hands to cup his face, then moved closer, forcing him to release his hold.

Karime hovered her lips over his, meeting his eyes once more, before kissing him deeply. Ivar wrapped his arms around her, holding her so tightly he feared he would crush her. But he could not let her go. She was finally here, back with him. He did not know why she had left, but she was here now, and that was all that mattered.

He broke the kiss to trail his lips down her neck, and her soft whimpers only encouraged him. He bit the valley where her neck met her shoulder and Karime cried out, her hips jerking against his. 

Ivar leaned back and reached up, grabbing the bodice of her dress. He pulled sharply, ripping the cloth in two, and pushed it off her body hastily. Karime tried to cover herself, but he moved her arms away, trailing his hand over one of her breasts. She closed her eyes at his touch.

Her skin was smooth and warm, and Ivar wanted to feel more. He removed his bracers, throwing them aside, and grabbed at her again greedily, run his hands along the planes of her back. He buried his face into her neck again, kissing and nipping the skin there.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, running her hands through his hair. Karime turned her head, searching for his lips again, kissing him hungrily. Ivar trailed his hands downward, under her ruined dress, until he found the soft folds between their bodies. 

He stroked her softly, almost lazily, and she ground her hips into his hand. He could tell she was eager for more of his touch, but he held back, teasing her as punishment for being away from him. He ran a finger slowly over her little nub and she moaned into his neck, pressing her forehead against his shoulder desperately.

He glided his fingers along her folds, catching the slickness, then circled her nub again, this time a bit faster. Whenever she started to writhe against his rhythm, he would slow; letting her know that right now, she was at his mercy.

Her breath quickened at his manipulations, and she squeezed his shoulders. “Ivar,” she said, her voice sounding like it would break.

 _Oh, I like that_ , he thought to himself. _I like to see her beg like that._ He grinned down at her, watching her face crease in torment as his hand slowed again. Karime grit her teeth and released a short guttural sound, looking at him from under her brow.

He chuckled as he increased the speed and pressure of his fingers on her. Karime’s breath hitched at the onslaught, and she grabbed at him again. A long, low moan escaped her lips that grew louder and higher as he kept on. He rubbed his thumb on her in wide, firm circles, and she seemed to like that, her hips following his motions.

Ivar reached up suddenly, grabbed her shoulder to still her, and rubbed her furiously with the other. Karime’s moans turned in sobs as her body stiffened and seized, his hand now soaked with the wet of her.

Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath from her high. Karime caught his gaze, and she gave him a serious look.

“Ivar. You said it did not work.” He followed her gaze, and felt more than saw the hardness in his pants. Seeing Karime find pleasure under his control had done something to him. He liked seeing her fall apart under his touch. He loved how she sounded when she begged for him. He didn’t want to question it. 

“Get on top of me. Now,” he commanded, his voice low. She reached down and undid his laces, his manhood springing free. He grabbed the base and she stood and lifted her skirt to settle on him. Karime looked at him hesitantly.

“Do it,” he urged. She closed her eyes and lowered herself slowly, taking him in. He released his breath in a hiss. She sheathed him completely, warm and wet and soft. 

Karime bit her lip, moving on him to find a comfortable position, and it took everything within him to not push her into the earth and fuck her into oblivion.

He stripped himself as well, so they were both bare, and grabbed her waist, urging her to move. She was slow at first, little sounds escaping from her. Ivar gripped her closer, liking the feel of her bare skin against his.

Karime seemed to find a comfortable rhythm and rode him eagerly, her whimpers a blend of both pain and pleasure. He could not help but moan as well, her movements making his whole body flash hot, then cold, then back again.

Ivar looked into her eyes, then grabbed her hair again and started to thrust into her, deep and hard, overtaking the rhythm. She slowed a bit and her lips parted as her eyes closed.

“Open your eyes,” he instructed. Her lids fluttered open, meeting his gaze.

“Do you like it when I fuck you?”

Karime said nothing, but after a moment, she nodded. He moved into her a bit faster, and her brow creased.

“Do you think your precious Zahran could fuck you like this? Do you think my brother could do this to you?” he asked her, pushing her body down onto him roughly.

She shook her head, a sob escaping her lips. Karime ran a hand down his chest, her fingers digging into his flesh.

“Say it,” he told her, running his thumb over her breast, “Say you like it when I fuck you.”

“I…” she began, panting.

He thrust into her harder, swirling his finger over her nipple almost absentmindedly, and her eyes rolled closed. 

“Say it,” he repeated, his voice gruff.

“I like when you fuck me,” she said quickly, just barely getting the words out.

“Good, “ he said, before pounded into her as quickly as he could. Karime howled at his rhythm, tears slipping down her cheeks as he brought her to her high once more. She clenched around him tightly and that urged his own release. He felt himself spill into her, and he slowed, gasping against her.

They held each other, the night air cooling their heated bodies. He leaned his head on her shoulder, breathing deeply against the skin of her neck. He moved his hand up and down her back slowly; remembering the feel of each groove and protrusion. Karime ran her fingers through his hair softly, her eyelids half closed.

“Do not leave me again, Karime,” Ivar repeated to her. “Do not ever leave me.”


	17. Continue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karime's point of view. I feel like this is different from how I have written other chapters. There are parts I love, and parts where I'm like, "I don't know..." But here it is! Lots of things these two need to talk about, moving forward...

She did not sleep at all that night.

Of all the ways she had imagined lying with a man for the first time, this had not been one of them. It was aggressive and fervent, and part of her liked it very much. But another part of her was still confused.

It had not been her intention to do that with Ivar. She said to him- and to herself- that she wanted to know him first.

And she had. She learned about him. And what she discovered left her reeling.

It was obvious to her that Ivar had had a difficult life. The tempest in his beautiful eyes reflected the pain and ridicule and loss to which he was so accustomed. But it was no vindication for the things he did. Had done. He did not seem to know or care what was right or wrong. Ivar only knew what it was he wanted, no matter how it affected others. No matter the cost.

 _His mother gave into him_ , she thought. She treated him as something so precious and fragile, that he could not be touched by anything, not even by blame. _In that, Aslaug failed him. Everyone did._

Seeing the men of his culture – how strong and fierce they were - must have left him feeling lesser than. Karime saw it in everything they did, how forceful and physical they were. And she saw how he overcompensated, how he threatened and leered and hurt.

Karime also noticed the glances people gave him. The pity and disgust and trepidation firmly latched in their gazes. She knew they would see him in a different light if he could stand to meet their eyes, rather than crawl as he did. But his legs only garnered derision and judgment, which he so easily returned.

He wanted to be just as powerful, just as savage as his men portrayed themselves to be. He wanted to be Viking, as he told her so many times. But he could not see that he already was, more so than anyone. She sensed it, intensely, when they were finally together; how he rode into her hard, as if wanting to mark her body as his own. How he clutched her into him so fiercely. He wanted all of her, wanted to consume her.

Karime knew this already. She knew it the first time they met, the night in the cabin. It had scared her then, and it scared her now. She feared that Ivar would draw her in too deep, so deep that she would lose herself. That her own sense of honor would erode so much that there would be nothing but him. That all in her world would be just Ivar.

So she pulled away. She saw him, of course. Listened. But inside, there was a wall. She forced herself to keep everything between them behind that wall. Karime could not afford any sort of breach. So she sat. And she watched. And she listened. And she gave no more of herself.

She started to hate herself, truly. Karime saw the hurt in his eyes, but knew the distance was necessary, for the moment. What he could not see was the pain she felt as well. She wanted that wall to break. She wanted to give herself to him. She wanted him. But the fear was always there. And so the wall remained.

Hvitserk only muddled her mind more. He was much more tender now, rather than using his hands and mouth to get her attention. It was a nice contrast to their initial interactions. She liked seeing how affable and generous he was. How he smiled and laughed so freely. How he loved his brothers. How he always seemed to be eating something. It amused her.

But there was just something missing.

Karime did not fear him anymore; maybe even got a pleasant feeling when he spoke to her. But there was nothing more. Whatever Hvitserk wanted from her, she could not seem to give, and she knew. She would have to make him realize this as well.

It was Ivar she yearned. She forced herself to deny it, but it was plain. She felt the wall chipping, bit by bit. Karime could feel it crumbling, whenever he watched from afar, thinking she could not see him; when he called her to him and touched her, his fingers almost unsure but still greedy; when he looked at her, his blue eyes deep and supplicating.

So when Ivar asked her to meet him, she went. Karime could sense the odd tension in the air as she approached him among the thicket of trees. It made her heart beat faster. She thought it would burst out of her chest when he drew her to him, running his hands through her hair, gripping it harshly in his braced hand.

Karime knew the wall could no longer stand the moment Ivar demanded she never leave him. The way his voice rose through his chest, filled with pain and anger and longing, completely broke her resolve. It shattered the wall and left a flood in its place.

What happened afterward occurred too fast to remember completely. She kissed him deeply. Her dress was torn. His hands were all over her. Her lips searched for his again. Suddenly his fingers were moving back and forth between their bodies, and she could not think straight.

He would slow and speed up and then slow again, and it was amazing and frustrating all at once. And then his hand kept moving and moving, fast and hard and wet, and it would not stop and then she heard herself making noises she had never made as her body shook and tensed fiercely.

And then he was inside her, and it was like nothing she had felt before. It was right and wrong at the same time. It did not hurt, but Karime felt it all over, like she was being pulled apart slightly. Yet as she moved a bit, it eased, and what was left was soft and wonderful, like a wave hitting every inch of her body. Ivar seemed to like it as well, so she kept moving, loving the sounds he was making.

Then he was grasping at her again and she really felt him move, slower and harder. Karime felt every inch of his slide and it made her weak. Ivar was saying things to her and she could not piece it all together, could barely respond. She just sensed the way he glided her body down his length, how tears formed in her eyes, and she never wanted it to stop.

And then he was going faster and she could not see anything. All she sensed was something primal curling inside of her and she felt like she was gripping him with her entire being, and then he was clutching at her again. An odd milkiness filled the space between them and then they were holding one another, sweating and panting and half naked in the moonlight.

And they held each other all night. Her lids were heavy, but never closed all the way. They both lied on his thick cloak, wrapped together as if in a cocoon, and Karime was grateful for his largeness and his warmth. He breathed deeply in her ear, his fingers soft and warm at her back, and she nuzzled his neck with her nose idly. 

As she watched the rays of the sun peak through the twinkling lights in the sky, her heart seemed to fill with an acidic dread. _What have you done?_ she thought to herself. What if she was with child? What if she became sick, as she had seen men and women of other harims become back home? _What have you done, you stupid girl?_

Karime broke away from Ivar abruptly, patting at his shoulder.

“Ivar. Ivar! Wake up,” she said, sitting up and adjusting her ruined dress. He scrunched his face tightly then opened his eyes, lifting them slowly to look her way. The blue of his irises was pure and deep in the growing morning light, despite the anger they showed. He raised his eyebrows sharply, silently asking why she interrupted his sleep.

“I must see someone,” Karime replied vaguely and urgently. Ivar blinked, then stared back at her, unmoving.

“I may have child, yes? It is not wise for me to have child. To have child of a prince.”

Ivar rolled his eyes. He turned onto his back, cradling his head with his hands. Karime’s gaze drifted over his bare torso. It looked smooth and light, with various dips and grooves that she liked, that tugged at something within her.

“It is nothing to worry about,” Ivar told her, his voice gravelly from slumber. “The women here have ways to prevent such things. We will find one of them. That certainly will not be the last time we do this.”

He paused then, glancing at her curiously. Karime lifted her eyes from his chest abruptly and returned his gaze, raising one eyebrow.

“Would it be so awful if you carried my child?” he asked, his tone bearing a hint of a challenge. “He would become Viking, after all. 

“Not all,” she replied seriously, shaking her head. “Not all Viking.” She patted her chest. “Part of me, is with child. I am no Viking. I am slave, in Kattegat. Viking and slave not one person.”

“Not at the same time, no. But he would be Viking. Because I said so,” Ivar replied, narrowing his eyes.

“So you are Viking. And child is Viking. And I am still slave,” she stated, straightening to look him in the eye. He met her gaze, his own intense and steely, but said nothing. Karime stared back at him, then lowered her head, nodding. He did not need to say anything. She knew what his silence meant.

They rose and made their way back. Karime trailed after him, dragging her feet in the dirt. She enjoyed what happened between them, and she wanted it to happen again. But she could not be so reckless from now on. Ivar seemed to have no concerns, but she could not let herself indulge in the same way. She had to find someone to teach her, to help her with all of this.

And they had to talk, she and Ivar. Their last conversation brought up so many things that were not yet resolved for her. What if, suddenly, she did have his child? Karime did not fear motherhood, but how would these pale people treat her baby? Would they embrace her child? Would the baby be a bastard, because of her? Would Ivar truly acknowledge his child, if she were the mother?

Karime felt Ivar’s hand moving up her leg, soft and warm and familiar, before they parted. She glanced at him, and although she felt happy and scared and sad and so many other things, she could not help but give him a small smile. Karime leaned and met her lips with his, cupping his face softly. He reached up and placed a hand at her nape, deepening the kiss. She chuckled and tried to pull away, but he held her more firmly, kissing at her neck.

She ran a hand through his hair, and pecked him once more on his cheek. “I must go. I help Thora today.”

“I will find you. We will continue. Tonight,” he said, his look suggestive.

Karime looked him, then nodded once. She turned and made her way to Thora, who was prepping the morning meal.

“Where have you been? I searched for you all-” she began as Karime approached, then looked up. She paused, her pretty face contorting oddly. Then her eyes widened and her lips parted, and Karime knew she knew what had happened, without even saying a word.

“Karime, are you okay? He didn’t force you to do anything, did he?” Thora asked, voice on the edge of worry.

She shook her head. “It is fine. All is how I want. But I…I fear I have child, if I continue. How I do I stop this?”

Thora smiled, then nodded. “I will help you. We will help you.”


	18. More Tries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was practically falling asleep trying to get this chapter out, but here it is. I'm trying to get more comfortable writing sex scenes, but it's still new to me, so any feedback is appreciated!

"It is bitter," Karime stated, shuddering involuntarily.

"Better a bitter tongue than a swollen belly," Thora replied. 

"You should stay away from that pale boy, my child," Amal uttered in their language. Karime turned to meet the woman's eyes as she sipped the tea again. Thora said she would help her, but she wanted someone else she could trust, someone she had known for a long time. Amal had always looked out for her, and given her wise advice.

If Karime could have chosen anyone, Lady Arwa would be the one present. She had told Karime what it was like, being with a man. Being unclothed, with another person. But she never imagined having to do all of this. She thought she would have been courted and properly married, and would not have to stop her body from giving her child life.

Yet, she could not imagine Ivar asking for her hand. Not when she was still a slave, and he had stayed silent on the matter.

Karime recalled the night before. He had not asked her not to leave him. He demanded it. There was always a reminder of her status in contrast to his own. But she still sensed how much he wanted her. And she also knew what he would do to keep her.

"He does not hurt me. There is nothing to worry about," Karime stated.

Amal pursed her lips disapprovingly. "You are not his wife. It is immoral to lie with him, you know this. More importantly, you do not know what he will do to you." She leaned forward and grasped Karime's hands. "I will not see you harmed. I could not bear what they did to Nour. I wish I could have been there, to stop it.

"I know I am no longer young. I might very well die in this cold land, may never see our home again. If I must give my life to protect yours, so be it."

Karime titled her head, a smile tugging at her lips. How impassioned Amal could be. She loved her for it.

"He will not harm me. I know he will not. And I would not ever let him."

"Let him? Do you have a choice? Did Nour have a choice? He will do as he pleases. This is the way of these people."

Karime listened, squeezing the older woman's hand. She was not wrong. Ivar especially was forceful with his desires. That was exactly what drew her to him, and scared her as well.

But he was scared, she knew. The well of his feelings was so deep, it was no wonder he struggled to manage them. She could see it so plainly in his eyes; the fear, the need, the want, the surprise. Beneath the resentment and cruelty he gave others there was only a boy, lashing out. Scared of what was in his heart, and what could be taken from him.

Karime understood Ivar. But she did not want to let that comprehension cloud her mind. She knew involving herself with him would require some strength. But she was willing to look into herself and find it. Because as much as she tried to fight against it, Karime wanted him as well.

"I will not be foolish. That is why we are here. That is why you are by my side."

While she trusted Amal, she did not want to tell her what had happened last night. That Ivar pleaded at her to never leave him. That he held her so tightly she felt they would merge into one. That he made her feel as if she were dissolving into liquid; a bright, glittering liquid.

Karime replayed the sounds he had made in her head. She wanted to keep that for herself as well. They were a treasure only she could unveil. And she wanted to hear them again, as many times as she could. They intoxicated her.

"What is she saying?" Thora asked, pouring more tea for her.

 "Amal think I should not be with Ivar. She says is wrong, and he hurt me."

 "Wrong? Does she think he is forcing you?"

 "No. She says I am not wife of his. This is wrong."

 "Ah..." Thora responded, her brow furrowing. "But I see what she means. Ivar is dangerous. Even his own brothers fear him."

Karime lowered her head. Thora was right. She did not want to make excuses for him, no matter how much she wanted him. Was it her duty to make him see this? How his actions made others fear him? She was not sure. But Karime knew that she could not continue to give herself to someone so many believed was cruel. If she wanted him, perhaps it fell upon her to make him see his actions clearly.

 "What about Hvitserk? He is so handsome. And kind! He gave you that beautiful cake."

 "Hvitserk does not want me. He believes he knows. But he does not know."

 "What do you mean?"

Thora stared back at her, but Karime only shook her head, dismissing the matter. That was another thing entirely, that she would have to settle.

They cleaned up and made their way through the town, parting to tend to their duties. Karime walked to the stables, happy to see the beasts, and found Hvitserk waiting for her.

He looked up at her as she approached, and his face broke out into a wide smile. She had to admit that she loved seeing him smile  

“Hello,” she greeted, smiling back politely. He walked to her, his hands behind his back, immediately filling the space between them. 

“Feast was good for you?” she asked, brushing her hand against the horse’s neck.

“Yes. I looked for you, after,” he stated, lowering his head to meet her gaze.

She paused, then nodded quickly. “I leave, to help clean,” she replied. It wasn’t entirely false. Some of the other servants had pulled her away, asking for help here and there, as she tried to make her way to the woods.

Hvitserk nodded. He then brought his hands forward, and handed her a small bundle, wrapped in cloth.

“ _Hadha lak_ ,” he said, beaming at her. Her eyes widened at his words. He chuckled and reached for her hands, placing the bundle in her palm.

“Who teaches you this?” she asked him, staring at her hands. She pulled the cloth away slowly and found another treat, this one topped with fresh, large berries. Karime almost laughed, but twisted her mouth to kill the sound.

 “Does this not please you?” he asked, his blue eyes worried. His brow furrowed, his searching her face. “I thought you liked the last one, so I wanted to give you something else.”

“It is beautiful,” she said, giving him a small smile.

“Good,” he replied, nodding. “Mahir said you liked sweet things.”

“Mahir? You ask Mahir of me?”

This time Hvitserk paused, looking almost guilty, then nodded. “He did not want to at first. But I convinced him.”

She looked up at him sharply, “You hurt him?”

“No! No. I did not hurt him. I just….I told him that I wanted to do something nice for you. He is very fond of you, so he agreed.”

“Mahir is very kind,” Karime said, staring at the treat again. She felt odd, standing here with Hvitserk. How could she accept these things from him, accept his gestures, when she felt no devotion to him? She would have to let him know, and soon. She did not want to hurt him, make him think one thing when the truth was different.

“Thank you,” she told him, her stomach twisting. He smiled down at her, his face open and sweet. It made her heart lurch to look at him.

Karime wrapped the cloth up and placed it far from the horses, so they would not eat it, then started to feed them. Hvitserk sat, watching her work. She would glance at him occasionally, and every time he would smile at her.

“They like you,” he said, still watching her closely.

“I like them,” she responded, looking back at him.

“They are lucky,” Hvitserk stated, “I envy them.”

 Karime lowered her head. “Envy is danger to heart,” she said solemnly.

“It is a risk I am willing to take,” he replied, his eyes playful as he approached again.

“This risk is not wise,” she stated, not meeting Hvitserk’s eyes. She felt the heat radiating off of him, and it made her tense. She looked up at him, then lowered her head again, backing away slightly. Karime felt his eyes on her, all over her, and she wished desperately that he would just look away.

“It is so interesting,” he stated, his voice holding a note of fascination.

 “Interesting?” she repeated.

“How timid you can get, when I am close to you,” he clarified. “I still frighten you,” he decided.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I….I am not used to, being close to…”

 Hvitserk looked at her, his eyes intense. “Do not tell me you have never been chased by a man. I do not believe it.”

 Karime looked at him finally. She shook her head, and gave a small smile.

 “It is not possible,” he said, looking her up and down. “It is not possible,” he said again.

 “It is truth,” Karime said. “Before I am here, I only serve Lady Arwa. I am only with wives and little ones. I see men of my home. We speak. But no more. The man I desire….he is for another. It is this way.”

 Hvitserk stared at her, and she could not read him. He walked to her slowly, until his face was barely inches form hers.

 “They wanted to. They wanted to chase you. I know it,” he whispered to her, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He reached up and caught a strand of her hair, tucking it gently behind her ear.

Karime looked down, unable to meet his gaze again. “I must finish.”

His eyes followed her as she walked to the horses again. “I will leave you then. But I will see you tomorrow,” he stated, his voice hopeful.

She did not want to promise him anything. Karime could not offer him that. So she only smiled, as warmly as she could and watched him retreat.

 _What have I done?_ She thought to herself. It was so much simpler back home. Hvitserk was wrong; no one wanted her. No one wanted to chase her. Everything changed when she was brought here. 

She worked until the sun was lowering, then found a stream, and cleaned herself in solitude. It was nice, to be alone, to not think. To only listen to the sound of the water as it flowed.

Karime sat in the grass watching the water, everything losing its light as the sun faded. She heard a rustling sound and turned to find Ivar, coming to her slowly. The hood of his cloak obscured his eyes, and she pulled it back, stroking his face softly. He leaned into her hand, kissing her wrist.

Ivar turned his head slowly, and gave her a look that made her heart speed. His eyes were predatory, and she was unsure of what he would say. Or do.

“I saw you,” she heard him whisper. “With him. Why were you with him?”

She looked back at Ivar, breathing deeply. “Hvitserk finds me.”

“Ah, he found you,“ he said, crawling over her slowly. “He found you, and you let him stay, and you laughed and smiled at one another. How sweet.”

Karime lied in the grass, staring up at him. Was he angry? He clenched his jaw as he looked down to her, his breathing heavy. Ivar lowered his head to her neck suddenly, kissing and biting her skin. She furrowed her brow, feeling both confused and aroused.

“I do not like him around you,” he said into her ear. “I must teach you a lesson, so that you know better.”

She stiffened. _A lesson?_ _What could he possibly mean?_

“Close your eyes,” he ordered, rising over her again. Karime stared at him defiantly. He circled a hand around her neck, squeezing it slightly.

“Close. Your. Eyes,” he said again, and she complied, irritation now joining the other emotions she felt. Ivar moved over her, lowering his body until he was right between her legs. He lifted her skirt slowly, and her breathing increased. Her eyes popped open and she sat up when he completely exposed her.

“Lie back down,” he spat sharply, his blue eyes bright in the moonlight. She hesitated. _What is he doing?_ she wondered. She lied back reluctantly, and closed her eyes.

Karime could feel the cool of the breeze sliding against her skin, and then his mouth was on her, warm and wet right at her center. She jumped, pushing at his shoulders, and Ivar reached up, keeping her in place.

He moved his lips and tongue all over her, and she could not help but mewl. His movements seemed a bit unsure, almost curious, like he was exploring her. But it felt wondrous nonetheless. She started to grind her hips against him, unable to keep still.

Her movements seemed to give him confidence, so he took more control; changing his pace and licking at her slowly and languidly, then lapping and flicking his tongue, meeting her eyes to judge her reaction. She felt so exposed and vulnerable, watching him mouthing at her as he was, but she did not want him to stop, not at all.

She moaned deeply when he ran his tongue just over the right spot and Ivar paused to look at her. She lifted her head slightly, giving him a confused look, and a vile grin spread across his face. She opened her mouth but before a word could leave her lips, he spread her legs wide, and dove his face back in between. Ivar licked at her there over and over again, as if he never intended to cease.

It was evil what he was doing to her, she decided. She was at his mercy, coming completely undone, and he knew it. He knew from the moment he found her that she would be here, whining and gasping under him. He was truly evil. But right now, she did not mind.

He nuzzled his face into her, heightened everything she was already feeling. His tongue swirled back and forth and his lips worked at the sensitive skin and she was feeling it again, the glittering feeling she felt the night before. She felt it more and more and more, his mouth soft and wet on her, until it felt like she was bursting out of her own skin. She reached down and grabbed at his hair, crying out as he kept licking and sucking.

Karime slumped back into the grass, her limbs feeling free and loose, like the water running in the stream. She watched as Ivar wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, blue eyes fixed on her. It made her want to climb on him again, and ride him until he was crying out as well.

“Did you learn your lesson?” He asked, crawling atop her again. She looked up at him, smiling as she shook her head.

“No? Perhaps a few more tries, then you will learn,” he posed, and she nodded slowly, her smile widening.

“I think I need you to teach me a lesson as well,” he purred, pulling her on top of him. She laughed softly, crawling on him like he did on her. Karime hoped she never learned, and that he would keep having to teach her. She did not mind that at all.


	19. You Try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More smut. More relationship stuff. This chapter kind of flowed out of me. I was so unsure of what to write next, and then this thing came out. I'm hoping to get more into political stuff in future chapters, so hopefully this serves as good set up. We'll see.

The scent of her hair filled his nose as he woke.

 It was pleasant; warm and almost flowery and something else that was just her, and he loved it. Ivar snuggled closer, burying his face onto her curls.

He never wanted to let her go. He wanted Karime to stay by his side until he was no longer on this earth. Ubbe and Bjorn said she should be free; even Karime probed him about it, though her meaning was more literal.

 _I cannot_ , he thought to himself. Ivar wanted her. Desperately. She made him feel things he never imagined. And he wanted to keep it like this, always.

He opened his eyes and watched her silently, before trailing his lips down her neck, to feel her softness. Ivar started to nip at her shoulder and Karime squirmed in his arms. She giggled softly, the tone deep and raspy from slumber.

"Why this must happen outside always?" She asked, turning her head to look at him.

"This?" He repeated, mouthing at her.

"Us...we lie....."

"You mean when we have sex?" He clarified, catching her earlobe between his teeth. "That was not my intention now. I only wanted to be near you. To feel you. But I can be flexible," he said, grinning.

"But on ground?"

"I am not picky. I did not know _you_ would be such a princess about it," he teased.

"But you are real prince. You must care, no?" she stated.

"I do not. Am I not always on the ground already?" Ivar replied, digging his hand down the bodice of her dress. He palmed at her breast, running his thumb over her nipple as he caught her lips. Karime moaned lightly, kissing him back.

She reached under his tunic and trailed her hand down his stomach, making his skin heat up. Karime then dove her hand under the laces at his waist and grabbed at his cock.

His breath hitched, and he smiled as they kissed. Her touch was light and a bit unsure, but he liked feeling her warmth around him. She trailed her hand up and down his shaft softly, until he broke away from her suddenly.

"Do it harder," Ivar said. She looked up at him, her face blank, then nodded and gripped him a bit tighter. Her hand reached his tip and she fumbled with the wetness she found there, but kept on.

He started panting and Karime glanced at him, a small smile forming on her lips. She held him tighter and started moving even faster. He felt himself growing in her hand, and kissed her with more need. Ivar then pulled away, reaching down to grab her arm and stop her.

"Use your mouth now," he whispered, though the order was clear. She furrowed her brow, and removed her hand, but then undid his laces. Karime freed his length, looking a bit confused. She sat up on her knees and opened her mouth slowly, her eyes still hesitant. Leaning her head down, she swirled her tongue on the tip languidly.

Ivar let his head fall back. Her tongue was slick and soft and so wonderful on him. She took him into her mouth a bit deeper and he started to moan, but she pulled away, coughing slightly.

"Are you okay? What is wrong?" he asked, sitting up. Karime turned back to him and nodded, wiping her lips. She smiled and grabbed at him again, readying herself.

"It is soft, your skin," she whispered to him. "It is nice. I like feeling in my mouth."

He smiled at her words. He never thought he would hear anyone say something like that to him.

Karime took him in again, deeper than before, and he gasped, watching as her head bobbed up and down on him. He could feel the shifting of her tongue and throat as she tried to take his full length. His moans and breathing combined with the sounds of wet and sucking coming from her, and he reveled in it all.

Ivar grabbed the back of her neck and pushed down deeper, careful not to choke her too much. He felt the wetness trailing from her mouth onto his cock and it made him grip her even harder. She wove her hand up under his tunic again, caressing his skin slowly as she worked her mouth on him.

He let his eyes close, feeling the pressure beginning to build in his body. The muscles in his stomach started to tense under her fingers and she looked at him then, before moving a bit faster. He released his breath in a hiss and was panting again, and then his whole body convulsed at her rhythm. He spilled into her mouth, and Karime made a sound, as if she was surprised.

She widened her eyes and then she looked at him as she dragged her mouth up his length slowly. It only made the feeling of his release intensify, and he grunted harshly, digging his fingers into her skin.

Ivar released his hold and chuckled at the sight of her. Her lips were slick with wet and her mouth full. He pointed to the water, and she stood, walking toward the stream. She spit, then dipped her lips in, catching the liquid into her mouth. He gripped himself, savoring the dregs of his high, while watching her lean forward. His eyes roamed over the curve of her ass, making his cock twitch.

She walked back to him, holding her neck. Karime pulled her hand away and found it bloodied.

"You enjoy, yes?" she said, smirking at him.

"Yes," he affirmed, pulling her to him. Ivar lifted her hair and examined her skin. The dark smoothness was marred by half moon depressions that leaked crimson. He stared, before bringing his tongue to lap at her neck. He felt himself growing again, and he started to push her down, ready to lie with her.

"Ivar, you are not tired?" Karime asked, turning on to her back.

"I would never tire of you," he said, kissing her jaw. She breathed deeply as he moved over her, but this time she did not respond. He paused and looked up at her.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

She bit her bottom lip, eyes pensive. "Ivar, I know your kindness. I have seen. Why you hide it? Why you are good with me, but not good with others?"

"Because you are kind to me," he stated immediately. "The first time you met me, on the beach, you did not ridicule me. You were not awful to me. You were kind. And I had to know why. I had to know you, and why you were not disgusted by someone like me."

"Someone like you?" she said, her tongue trying to mimic his phrasing.

He paused before answering. "A cripple."

"Ivar, that is you. This cannot change...." She looked away, sighing. Karime shrugged and rolled her eyes.

"What? What is it?" he probed.

"I do not have words.....but it is you. And kindness is you. Give people kindness, yes? They will like this."

"They will think me soft. They do not need to see my kindness. Do you know of any kind Vikings?"

Karime looked at him, but said nothing.

"I did not think so. My father was not kind when he became king. My brothers were not kind, when they raided other lands. My grandfather was not kind, when he slew the dragon. I do not need kindness," he proclaimed.

"You are not father. You are not brothers. You are not king," she said.

"No. Not yet," he agreed, his response filled with promise.

She looked at him again, and nodded.

"Ubbe is kind," she said under her breath.

Ivar narrowed his eyes at her. "Well would you like Ubbe to come here and fuck you then? Or should I call for Hvitserk? I am sure they can show you plenty of kindness."

Karime turned back to him, smirking again. "No. I know you. You never let this happen."

He glared at her, trying to keep a straight face, but then broke into a laugh. He loved this about Karime, how little jibes just rolled off of her.

She reached up and cupped his face, rubbing her thumb on his jaw. "You will think, yes? If no kindness... then no...." she trailed off, mumbling to herself in her own language.

"Cruelty?" He finished for her.

"What is cruelty?" she asked, pronouncing the last word slowly.

"It is when you do not care for others. It is when you want them to suffer."

"Yes," she decided. "No cruelty. No kindness, no cruelty. In middle. Yes?"

He leaned down and kissed her. "I cannot promise anything. You say I am kind. But I am who I am. If I am seen as cruel, what can I do? That is for others to deal with."

"Try," Karime responded. "You try. You are prince, yes? People of Kattegat follow you. If you are king, they want good king. Cruel king is good king?"

"That depends on whom you ask," he retorted, biting her lip lightly. She narrowed her eyes at him and tugged a strand of his hair. He laughed and buried his face in the crook of her shoulder.

Karime seemed to stand up to him in a way no other person had before. She was defiant and angry. She was kind. Loving even. She was patient with him. She accepted him, then pushed him to be better. No one else had been like that with him. They feared him, or loved him too much. Karime simply saw him for who he was.

Ivar pulled her on top of him, hugging her close. He felt her warm breath on his neck. _I cannot lose her,_ he thought to himself. _I can never let her go_.


	20. Risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whew, it's been a while. I had parts of this chapter written, but I sort of had a block, so I got stuck. I also had another one of those times where things got overwhelming, personally and professionally, but I am focusing on writing again. 
> 
> This chapter has a lot going on, so I'm a bit iffy about it. I tried to make it run smoothly, but I'm still unsure about it.

They were all infuriating him. Only Ubbe seemed to understand.

Ivar worked the axe, turning his hand over and over again. He curled his lip and turned it faster, almost breaking off the handle.

He was enraged that Bjorn intervened. They had been close. So close to killing Lagertha.

Then he had walked in. And ruined everything.

Ivar meant it when he said they should kill him as well. It made no difference to him that Bjorn was his brother. They only shared half of the same blood. The other half gave him enough reason to cut his brother down, easily bury his sharpened axe into his chest.

And she would have been next. Ivar would do anything it took to put Lagertha into the ground.

Ivar threw the axe, the metal a dull thud against the ground. He wanted revenge for Aslaug. It was a need, like his chest was burning and caving in, and the only thing that could soothe the blaze was retribution.

But that matter was more complicated he knew. And its fruition would take time, to his disdain.

Seeking Aelle and Ecbert, making them pay for what they did to Ragnar - that was easy. All the sons could at least agree on that. And they would go. They would go with their army and rip those weak Christian kings to shreds. He would hear them plead to their ridiculous God, and he would laugh at their futile prayers. He would laugh as their blood soaked his skin. He would laugh.

It did please him to see so many ships coming to Kattegat to support their cause. The last time his father had been in Kattegat everyone had spat on him, their eyes gorging on contempt. They thought him foolish, and loathed him for his secret, now revealed.

But now they gathered, hundreds of ships and men coming together in the name of Ragnar Lothbrok. And he was ready to return to England, for his father. And for himself.

The guards had snickered at him constantly while he was imprisoned at Ecbert's villa. They cackled at the useless, pagan cripple. Ivar could not wait to see the fear in their faces when he approached in his chariot, and sliced them down.

He left the smithy, dragging himself slowly as he searched for Karime. Ivar found her at the stables, petting one of the horses. All thoughts of vengeance and wrath were released, as soon as he saw her. He watched her, the soft smile on her lips making his stomach clench.

He crawled to her, reaching under her dress to wrap his arm around her leg. Her skin was warm and smooth, and Ivar ran his thumb along her inner thigh. Karime turned, her smile widening. She reached into his hair, running her fingertips along his scalp. He leaned his head against her to savor her touch.

"Come," Ivar whispered. He led the way into one of the empty stalls. The smell of earth and hay and horse surrounded them. Karime followed and settled next to him. She searched for his hand and threaded her fingers through his. The scent of her hair filled his nose when she leaned her head on his shoulder, and Ivar turned to her, burying his face into the soft tresses.

He gathered her hand in both of his. Turning her palm upward, Ivar traced the deep red lines on her skin.

"Why did you get these? What do they mean?"

He felt Karime shift to look up at him. "I want them. In my home, we have hinna for many reasons. I like because Lady Arwa does it. She likes to do and she share part of herself with me. All night, she..." Karime raised her other hand. She pinched two fingers together, and gesturing quickly into the air, poked at something invisible.

Ivar knit his brows together. "On your hands. It pained you I am sure."

"Yes."

"And yet you still went through with it."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I want. I know I want. So I control pain."

He turned his head to look at Karime, astonished. _Control the pain?_ She made it sound so easy. He could not fathom it. His pain drove everything he did. The aches. The sorrow. The loss. The fury. It was not something he could control. It consumed him whole, blinding him. At times, he had no idea of what he was doing until it was done, and he could take nothing back.

Ivar kept tracing the lines, feeling the softness of her palm. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the skin. He trailed his mouth down to her wrist, then her forearm, until he suddenly let go and brought her face to his. He nipped at her bottom lip and felt her smile.

“Ivar,” he heard her whisper.

“What?” he asked against her jaw, making his way to her ear.

“We cannot. Not here,” she said lowly.

“Why not?” he questioned. “We can do whatever I say we can do.”

“What if someone comes?”

“Let them,” he said, pulling up her skirt. He ran his fingers along the inside of her leg, the skin even softer there.

“Please. We never do in bed. Inside. Please, one time? Can we do this?” she pleaded with him.

Ivar stopped and pulled away. “I do not understand your obsession with having sex indoors. What does it matter where we do it?”

“I feel like bitch mounted, any time. That is how you see me? Like a bitch?” she asked, leaning forward to look him.

He glared at her from the corner of his eye, trying to hide his smile. Karime could be quite blunt when she was impatient. “Of course not.”

“Then we have sex inside. Once. You like will like, I know. Okay?”

Ivar rolled his eyes. “Very well. I am not accustomed to taking orders from anyone, much less a servant. But I will oblige. I will let you convince me.”

“Not orders. I ask. Person asking of you something is not demand, Ivar. If I care for you, I will do for you. If you care for me, you do for me. Yes? I care for you. You care for me?”

“Okay,” he said, nodding his head. He narrowed his eyes, his mind already elsewhere. Karime smiled and gripped his hand again. Ivar raised his eyes to hers, and pursed his lips.

As soon as she said the word- _ask_ \- his thoughts returned to England. He had been so focused on Lagertha and Ecbert and Aelle and forming the army with his brothers that he had not thought about what would become of him and Karime.

Would she go with him? Would she wait here? He could certainly just force her to go. She would not be happy, but he knew how bound she was to her duty. To her people. But Ivar wanted her to go, he realized. He wanted her to want to go with him. He wanted her to want to be by his side, of her own accord.

He kept his gaze low; unsure of how he would ask Karime what he was about to ask. He would risk it. He would not demand or force. He would give up his control, to get what he wanted. It made no sense to him, but he would try her way on her. He would ask her, as she wanted, to go with him. Ivar took a breath, closing his eyes to break the silence between them.

"I am going to England with my brothers."

As soon as it had left, the silence returned, hanging heavy in the air after he spoke.

"What is England?" she asked.

"England is another country. It is where my father was killed. We are going to seek revenge on their kings."

She hummed lightly, contemplating his statement. "How this is happening?"

"We are gathering armies. We will sail there. We will fight their armies. We will kill them."

Another long silence passed before she spoke again. "And when you return?"

Ivar paused, his eyes shifting to her. This was it. This was the moment. "I do not know. But....I want you to come with me."

His heart was pounding hard in his chest and a whooshing sound filled his ears, as if he had been submerged in water. Karime lifted her head slowly, turning to look at him. "Go with you?"

"Yes," he immediately replied, his voice stronger now. Ivar searched her face, wanting to find some clue that she would agree, that she would just say yes to him. But Karime lowered her head, furrowing her brow.

"I...the women, I cannot leave. I cannot leave here alone."

"They are not going anywhere. They will be safe here. You do not have to worry. Say yes. Come with me, please," he urged, wrapping his hands around her face.

Her brow wrinkled even more. Her face looked pained, and she reached up to grasp his hands.

“Do not say no to me,” he told her, his eyes boring into hers. Karime’s eyes grew big and shiny, and he gripped at her harder. “I will take care of you. I will make sure your people are safe here. I promise. Come with me.”

She closed her eyes, her teeth catching her bottom lip.

“I must think. I need time, Ivar. To think.”


	21. Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karime contemplates going to England with Ivar. She gets some advice, but it doesn't seem to make anything clearer

_Go to England._

 

She didn't know anything of this England. _Was it like Kattegat?_ Karime wondered. It did not really matter. It was still not home. 

She lied on the old furs in the servants' quarters, feeling torn. Karime was secretly thrilled that Ivar had asked her to go with him. She could sense how desperately he wanted her by his side. And she wanted to be there with him, of course. But the reality was that he and his brothers were waging war in a foreign land. What place did she have in the middle of that? In the middle of a search for vengeance?

Ivar also still said nothing about her freedom. Karime sensed something indescribable, chafing at her insides. The more he avoided the subject, the more intense the feeling grew. It was as if he were intent on keeping her trapped, and she could not fathom why. Yet he wanted her to go with him. No matter how many pleading looks and kisses and glittering feelings he gave her, she was still enslaved. And he was doing nothing to change that.

And finally, the women. Karime knew she could not leave them here alone. An immense guilt had washed over her when she had only contemplated going with Ivar. _Will they hate me, if I say yes to him?_ None of them said anything to her about being with him. But she knew they were thinking things, had questions on the tips of their tongues that they were holding back. Karime saw the looks of apprehension they gave whenever Ivar was near.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force all of the thoughts and feelings out of her. A weight settled next to her and she looked up to see Nour, a bowl balanced carefully in her lap. Amal joined them a few moments later, her eyes sharp and knowing.

"What is it, my child?" The older woman asked.

"What do you mean?" 

"You look sad," Nour stated before bringing a spoon to her lips. She made a face at whatever she had tasted, but kept eating slowly.

"I'm just thinking," Karime told them, laying her head back down.

"Whatever it is must be a heavy weight on your mind," Amal said.

Karime looked back up. She hesitated, but decided to tell them what had happened. Perhaps they could give her the proper words in order to decide. "The prince and his brothers are traveling to another land."

"Yes?" Amal urged.

"And he has asked me to go with him."

They were both silent, immobile after she had spoken. They stared at her, and she couldn't figure out what they were thinking.

"He asked you?" Nour finally posed.

"Yes."

"It was not an order," she clarified.

"No. He said, 'Come with me, please.'" Karime replied. "It was a request. He did not want me to say no, of course, but I asked him for time to think, and he obliged."

Amal inhaled deeply, raising an eyebrow.

"What?" Karime prodded.

"I had heard rumors of this prince's cruelty, and urged you to be careful with him. With all of these white people. And I still urge it, especially with him. But if someone of his status asks something like that of you, rather than demand it, it certainly would give the impression that he is conscious of what you feel. He could have any servant to go with him, to tend to his needs. Yet considering what has happened between you two, I do not think he merely wants you to change his bedding and bring him his meals. It seems as though....this young prince might actually care for you, and wants you by his side."

"But yet he keeps me as a slave," Karime countered.

"Of course he does," Nour said, matter of fact. "What do you think would happen if you were free? He does not want to lose you, and if that means keeping you as his slave, then that's what he will do."

Karime sighed. It made sense, what they were telling her. And she wanted it to be true, that he cared for her truly. She wanted to believe that was the reason why he had asked her. 

"So what do I do?"

Amal met her eyes. "That is for you to decide. You do not have Arwa or your mother and father to make decisions for you now. You must guide yourself down the path you think is best for you. That is not right or wrong. It is only what is best. What is."

"But what about the rest of you? I cannot leave you alone," she said.

"Karime, could you stop us from being taken? Could you stop what happened to me?" Nour asked. Karime looked down at her hands, then shook her head.

"Then if something happens to us here, what makes you think you can prevent it? Whether you stay or go, whatever will happen to us will happen."

"She is right, my child," Amal agreed. "You are pure of heart and strong, but neither all powerful nor all knowing. Everything that occurs in the world is the will of Allah, not yours."

"You are my people," she told them weakly, grasping both of their hands.

"And we shall always be, no matter where you are," Amal told her, squeezing her hand. She leaned forward and kissed Karime's temple, then rose. They watched her walk away, and silence hung between them for a while. 

Nour still sat by her side, finishing what was in her bowl. "So tell me about it."

"Tell you what?" Karime asked, confused.

"Your prince, of course," she stated, rolling her eyes. "I have heard from the other servants that all of those brothers have quite....insatiable appetites. That the one girl, with the sad looking eyes, has been passed around among them like a pipe. What is he like?"

Karime sniggered, but shared her what it was like to be with Ivar. That in that regard, he was demanding, in a way she liked. That he seemed harsh, but that everything about him- his skin, his lips, his hair, his eyes- were soft and plush and she lost herself in him. That hearing him laugh when he was with her was one of the most amazing things she had ever heard. That his smile could be dangerous, then suddenly pure. That he looked at her like he'd never seen anyone else before, never had another person in his life.

Nour stared back at her, her eyes narrowed. "Do you love him?" She asked, the question almost sounding like an accusation. Karime looked back at her, pursing her lips, but said nothing. _Do I love him?_ She had never been in love with anyone. She did not know what it would feel like. She could not say for sure.

"I think you do," Nour decided, lying down on her back. "He is quite handsome. And the way you speak of him, it sounds as if you do."

Karime lied down as well, thinking over the question. _Do you love him? Do you love him?_ It resounded over and over in her head as she fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning Karime helped Thora carry water to the animals. The wood was heavy on her shoulders, and they started to ache early on. 

"So you're going to England then?" The light haired girl asked, petting one of the large hogs. 

Karime looked up in surprise. "What?"

"I heard Prince Ivar asked you to go with him to England," she restated.

"Nour has such big mouth," Karime said, shaking her head.

"Nour didn't tell me," Thora chuckled. "One of the other servants overheard Ubbe and Ivar speaking in the Great Hall. It seems Ivar was worried that you would not want to go, and Ubbe told him to give you time."

Karime nodded, but said nothing.

"So are you going then?" Thora probed once more.

"I am still unsure," she replied, shrugging. "I know nothing of this England. It is other land I do not know. Like this one."

"I only know what I have heard. The people are known as Saxons, and only worship one god," Thora told her, rolling her eyes as if the idea was completely incomprehensible. "There used to be one of them here. Athelstan. A priest, they called him. He was always with Ivar's father. I remember him. He was kind and knew many things, spoke our tongue easily. When I was younger, he would always pat my head and smile when he passed by. He seemed to become one of us, for a time. Wore a band and shaved his head. Wore our clothes. Fought with our people against his own."

"He is in England now?" Karime asked.

"He is dead," Thora said solemnly. "He could not accept our gods. And Floki killed him for it. Ragnar punished him very harshly for that. I remember the other children were cruel, treated him so badly when he was chained."

Her eyes widened. _Killed?_ Karime thought. That is not how it was in her home. In Al-Andaluz, all were free to believe and worship in their own way. All lived together, in peace.

"Ivar's mother then asked Floki to guide Ivar in our ways," Thora added. "That is another reason why he must want to go. It is well known how much Ivar worships our gods, and loathes the Saxon ways."

Karime nodded. The more she heard about this place, this England, the more she worried. She wondered again if it was right for her to go there, be in the midst of so much anger and turmoil. At least in Kattegat, she had people, friends, and some semblance of safety. If she went to England, she was not sure if she would return or even survive, no matter much much Ivar promised to protect her.

Karime felt no closer to making a decision. She wanted Ivar. But she wanted to live, just as much.


	22. Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karime decides, and prepares to tell Ivar.

Karime could not stop wringing her hands together.

She had thought about what she was going to tell to Ivar all day, had practiced it repeatedly. Thora had told her exactly how to say what she wanted to say; which words to use, and how to move her mouth to form them. She knew she still wasn't fluent in their language, but for this, Karime wanted to be as precise as possible. She wanted no confusion, and no manipulation of her meaning. Yet her heart still pumped wildly in her chest.

She hadn't seen Ivar since he had asked her to travel to England with him. He must have heeded her words as well as his brother's, leaving her alone to give her time to think. Karime knew he must be going mad with anticipation, but she was grateful nonetheless for some semblance of his patience.

She tugged at her hair as she walked, still damp from her bathing. The others servants told her they had seen Ivar going back to the cabin after sunset, so she went to find him, her steps slow and careful. She hoped that they would be able to talk alone, that they could find some space away from his brothers. She was scared to say what she intended to Ivar; it would be much worse if there was an unwanted audience.

Karime knocked on the wooden door, waiting to hear that she could enter. When no one replied, she leaned her ear close then knocked again, harder this time. After a few moments of silence, she pushed in, moving her head inside slowly. Ivar sat off to the side, alone. He was bare chested, removing the bracers from his hands as he stared at nothing. His features danced between sadness and contempt, but when he heard her approaching he turned slowly, simply looking relieved.

"I thought you were one of my brothers," he said threading his hand through hers.

"They knock?" She asked, taking a seat next to him. Karime reached up slowly with her other hand, brushing the tips of her fingers along the skin of his jaw and neck. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes.

"They will do anything to annoy me," he replied, scooting closer to her. 

She smiled softly at his peevishness, and exhaled, willing her nerves to calm. "Ivar. I have made my decision."

He looked at her suddenly, eyes wide. "You will come? Please say you will come with me."

Karime paused and stared back at him. She released another breath then lowered her eyes, and in her silence she could see his face morph. He already believed he knew her decision. Ivar's eyes were hardening, and his full lips were thinning into a straight line.

"I want to go with you," she said clearly, cutting off his transformation. "I will go to England with you. But I need something. I need you to hear what I am asking from you."

"What is it? Tell me," He urged desperately, leaning into her.

"You must protect my people when I am gone," she started slowly.

"I said they would be fine," Ivar replied, his brow furrowing. Karime stared back at him sternly, telling him silently that she was not done. He rolled his eyes, but allowed her to continue.

"You must order someone to protect them all," she went on carefully, concentrating on her words. "And when we are in England, I must be protected. I want to live, Ivar. Not only as your slave. I want to be person- be a person, at your side. I know you are scared to free me."

At this, he glanced at her again, giving her a strange look that she could not decipher. Karime did not let that deter her.

"You are prince. You are a prince," she corrected herself. "I am only a servant. I cannot demand. But I care for you. You have scared me, and pleased me, and showed me your true self. I think you care for me like I care for you. This is why you are scared. But I ask you to protect me. I ask you to see me as a person. It is hard for someone like me to ask a prince for respect. But if you care for me, if I go to England with you, this is what I need. I like that you care for me. But I need protection and respect. I must know you see me as a person, not just your slave."

Karime looked up, feeling exhausted. It felt as though she had been speaking forever. It had taken so much energy to remember what Thora had told her, but she was glad it was finally over. Ivar stared back at her. It was the first time since she’d met him, that his face gave away nothing. He simply looked at her, motionless, and her heart started to sink.

“Yes,” he then replied, nodding slowly. “I will protect you.”

“Yes?” she repeated, a smile forming on her face. Karime leaned forward and circled her arms around his neck, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Oh, thank you.”

“You are a person to me,” he whispered in her ear, hugging her back. “You are the only one to see me for who I am. You see everything, not just the bad. You have never treated me like a beast or a monster.”

Karime turned her head to gaze at him. “Ivar, we all have good and bad inside. This is human. This is life. Balance is your choice.”

“You are good,” he told her, holding her tighter. “ _You_ are my choice.”

He kissed her then, slowly and softly, and Karime felt relieved. She was unsure of how he would have reacted to her words, her request. But he heard her. He listened. And now she felt no qualms about going with him to England. Her people would be safe. She would be safe. And she would be at his side.

Karime kissed him back, trailing her hands up his neck to hold his face. Ivar leaned into her, squeezing her waist and roaming his hands back and forth over her thighs. He started to pull her skirt up when she pulled away slightly, brow furrowed.

“Will your brothers come?” she whispered, glancing towards the entrance. Karime did not want to say it out loud, but she preferred not to have Hvitserk find them in such an intimate position, not when she had yet to speak with him. Though she knew Ivar would be delighted if his brother saw anything.

“They are in the Great Hall. Their heads must be swimming in ale and mead. It is nothing to worry about,” he assured. “Get on the bed.”

She gave him a giddy smile and stood, shuffling to the large bed. Karime sat carefully, running her hands over the furs. They were much softer than the ones the servants had, and look richer as well. Ivar pulled himself up next to her, and they sat face to face, just as they did the first night they met. 

He kissed her again, harder this time and pushed her down, pressing his frame onto hers. Karime adjusted herself under him, liking the feel of his weight on her. She circled his neck with her arms again and ran her hands through his hair. He started to pull her dress up again, and she helped him this time, lifting her hips off the bed to trail it up her waist.

Ivar dove his hand underneath the woven fabric, resting a warm palm on her belly. He ran his thumb over her skin and she clenched her stomach, giggling at the tickling sensation. He moved his mouth to her neck as he trailed his fingers lower, to the juncture of her curls. He parted her legs hastily and started fiddling at her, working his index around her nub.

Karime squirmed at the feeling. “Please,” she begged.

“Please what?” Ivar intoned, moving a bit faster. She moaned at that, arching her back off the bed.

“Inside,” she replied, and he chuckled, pulling his hand away. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she watched Ivar bring his slickened fingers to his lips and suck them clean. Then he brought them back between her legs, wiggling them and pushing his way inside her. He loomed over her, his smile mischievous as he pumped back and forth, curling and twisting in way that was new, but so good. He watched her for a moment, humming contentedly, before lowering himself to her waist. He pulled her dress up to her stomach, then lowered his mouth on to her, moving his fingers and tongue simultaneously.

Karime cried out. This was amazing. It was two different feelings, merging together to make her body shake and tense amazingly. She pulled at his hair, her breathing coming in sharper and he only went faster, in and out and so wet on her. Something seemed to hit her chest, and it traveled through her body, zipping down to her toes and coming back up to her head.

She pushed away from him and pulled him on top over her suddenly, reaching for the ties at his waist. Ivar chuckled at her hastiness, but helped her pull his cock out. Karime ran her hands up and down his already hard shaft, but she wanted to feel him herself, his softness in her hand. She guided him inside her quickly, moaning softly as he pushed in. He adjusted himself over her carefully, but she placed a hand on his waist, urging him to move freely. Ivar paused, meeting her eyes for a moment, then thrusted into her with vigor, holding nothing back. 

Ivar moved in and out of her, his pace almost animalistic. Karime basked in it, moving and moaning below him. It felt so good to just be free, to feel no fear or apprehension anymore. They were finally just together, just him pushing into her, his cock gliding within her wonderfully.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, and he thrust inside even deeper, lowering his face to her neck. The bed moved and groaned with his motions, and Karime only panted loudly, roaming her hands over the slick skin of his back. She felt him bite her shoulder as his own body finally stiffened over her, then paused, breathing hard onto her skin. Running her fingers through his scalp, she turned her head to plant light kisses on his face.

“Bed is better, yes?” she whispered, nuzzling her nose against his skin. He exhaled sharply, then dropped his body abruptly, warm and damp on hers.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Much better,” a small smile on his sleepy looking face.


	23. Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the way to England, Ivar gets some choice words from his mentor and his brother. They both leave him feeling some type of way.

The waves all around them were calm. Steady and dark. But inside Ivar was a growing storm.

He watched as Karime sat with Hvitserk, across the deck of the boat. She told him that she had to have a conversation with him, and he could only look on, seething as she placed a hand on her brother's arm.

"What for?" He had questioned her when she told him. "You do not owe him anything."

"I owe truth, Ivar. All people deserve truth," she replied, and carefully made her way to Hvitserk, swaying as the boat moved over the water.

 _What truth?_ He wondered. It was obvious to everyone she was his. Hvitserk was willfully blind if he did not realize it by now.

"I see you are quite taken with your little pet," Ivar heard behind him, immediately recognizing Floki's singsong voice. He turned to look at the boat builder, raising an eyebrow.

"She is not a pet. She is my woman, old man," he teasingly reprimanded, quirking the left side of his mouth.

"Yes. Of course she is _yours_ ," Floki agreed, circling around Ivar slowly, his gangly limbs making him look almost spiderlike. "Is that not how it works, being the thraell of a prince?"

Ivar stared up at him, confusion and irritation molding into the creases of his face. "What concern is it of yours?"

Floki crouched suddenly, his dark-rimmed eyes level with Ivar's blue ones. "It is my concern because you are doing what my Helga is doing." Ivar rolled his eyes, a groan rising from his chest, but the man continued unfazed. "She keeps Tanaruz at her side, knowing the girl is afraid and hateful of our people. She saw what we did to her home. She knows and she fears. Do you not think your _woman_ feels the same? That she does not see us as heathens for taking her?

"Helga fools herself into thinking she can be the girl's mother, that she will love us as sweet Angrboða did. You keep your _woman_ ," he spat, emphasizing the word again, "enslaved, playing at lov-"

"I play at nothing, Floki," Ivar stated, staring back with heat in his gaze. "I let her choose to come with us to England. She said to me that she wanted to be by my side. That she cared for me. It is not the same. What I have with Karime is real. I do not torment her as Helga does your daughter."

"You let her choose?" The man repeated, his tone almost mocking. "She may have told you what you wanted to hear, Ivar. You must be wiser than this. I know what you are capable of, how your mind can work. You are brilliant. Do not let that be dulled by an illusion you impose on yourself. I have spoken to Helga, but she does not listen to my words. I know you will. You always have." He paused then, tilting his head to contemplate his next words.

"Release her, let her be a free woman, as she was before she met you, and then you will know-"

"I cannot relea-"

"Then you will know if it is real," he finished, insistent. Floki stood once more, giving Ivar a look that was somewhere between a plea and a warning, and walked off. Ivar's eyes followed his movements, his brows knitting together tightly.

He agreed. Ivar had always listened to Floki. The man had never steered him wrong. He was his guide, he had taught him almost everything he knew. But something inside Ivar told him Floki was not right this time.

He had watched Karime, had felt the sincerity in her words when she told him she cared for him. And he felt the same for her. He more than cared for her. He could not imagine life without her now. And that was exactly why he kept telling himself he could not free her. _What would she do if I did?_ Karime would be happy of course, but what else? Leave him? Finally reveal that she never felt anything for him, that it was all a ruse to gain her freedom?

He was silent for the remainder of the ride, swallowing thickly as his stomach lurched and churned oddly.

"Ivar?" He heard, and looked up. Karime sat by his side, her usually warm face now wan and sickly. She glanced back at him, her eyes asking if he was all right. He had not even noticed when she had returned to him. The waves, though still calm, were making a mess of his insides.

He gazed back and nodded, reaching for her neck. "Are you okay?"

Karime ran a palm over her own stomach, the other covering her lips as she closed her eyes. She leaned into his touch and nodded slowly.

"It makes you sick, too. The water," he whispered, moving closer to her. He enveloped her body with his arms, cradling her lightly. Ivar breathed in deeply, silently showing her what helped him ease the feeling, and she followed his movements, inhaling deeply and released her breaths in sharp bursts through her lips. He held her until they finally reach the shore, but Karime still seemed overcome by the motions of the sea.

He looked around, his eyes landing on his brother. "Hvitserk!"

He turned, pursing his lips as his gaze roamed over Karime lying on Ivar.

"Carry her," Ivar told him. "She is ill, and cannot walk on her own." He heard Hvitserk scoff lightly, but ignored it. No matter what Karime had said to him before, he knew his brother would do as he said. Not out of any kindness to him, but for her. She seemed to bring that out in others.

Hvitserk leaned down, scooping her up into his arms. Her head lolled against his chest, and she moaned lightly. Ivar followed closely behind, listening as she breathed heavily.

Camp was already being made and he was grateful. Karime needed rest. He followed his brother into an empty tent, shielded by tall trees. "Get her something to lie on," he said to Hvitserk.

" _You_ get her something, Ivar," his brother spat. "I am carrying her."

Ivar glared back at him, but saw his point. He crawled out of the tent, weaving between people walking this way and that, and found another already made tent, simply taking what he could find. He meandered back to Hvitserk and Karime, who was in his lap, her torso strewn across his.

"Here," Ivar urged, pulling some blankets off of his back and onto the ground. He spread the material open enough for Karime to be comfortable, and watched as Hvitserk set her down gently. His brother stood upright once more, staring down at her as well.

"She cares for you. She told me. She said she could not keep lying to me, or to herself. That she did not want to hurt me, but that she wanted you," he told Ivar, his voice low. He wanted to hear defeat in his tone, but Hvitserk sounded like he simply accepted the realization.

"I know," was all Ivar said in response.

There was a long moment of silence before he heard his older brother speak again. "I do not understand it."

 _And there it is_ , Ivar thought to himself. He always knew it. He always knew that everyone thought him some sort of beast, something no one could love. He wanted to knock his brother to ground, beat him bloody for ever thinking he was above him, better than him. The sad little cripple with a blackened heart. Only Aslaug seemed to have the strength to grant him love. But now he had found someone who saw all of him. How could he let that go? Let her go?

"You do not have to," Ivar replied, still staring at Karime as she slept. His braced hand dug into the earth, his fingers forming a fist. They were side-by-side, and silent, for a while longer before Hvitserk left.

"You do not have to," Ivar said again, though he knew his brother could no longer hear his words.


	24. Sow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar's insecurities start creeping up again

Ivar turned his head as soon as he felt Karime stir.

The sun had set not longer after they had come ashore, and he stayed by her side, keeping watch. Karime had whined and groaned; frowning as she breathed deeply, but did not wake. Ivar had wanted to join his brothers, talk about their upcoming battle. But seeing her, the way her face looked pained, he knew he could not leave Karime alone. He figured he would see them in the morning, plan their moves against Aelle and Ecbert. Right now, they did not matter to him. He only could think of her.

Ivar gazed down at Karime as she inhaled loudly, finally awake. She turned onto her back , giving him a small smile in the growing dimness of the night.

"How are you feeling?" He posed, resting his palm on her cheek.

"My head.....is heavy," Karime replied, her voice scratchy. Ivar nodded back at her, running his fingers down her neck. He knew what she meant, that feeling of being weighed down after leaving the water.

"It will pass," he soothed, searching her face. "Are you hungry?"

Karime searched his eyes, her own looking tired, then nodded. Ivar ran thumb under her jaw, then kissed her quickly, before moving away to find something to eat. She started to rise after him, and he turned at her movements. He placed a hand on her shoulder to push her down, silently telling her to lie back and rest.

"Ivar, I go with you-" she began.

"No," he insisted, shaking his head. "You are ill. You will rest, and I will take care of you."

Karime smiled at him. "You do not have to."

"I know I do not have to," he snapped. "I want to. For you. Now you will listen to me, and you will stay here."

"But...I want to go with you," she whispered, her eyes cast low. Her fingers played with the cloth of her dress, then moved upward quickly to tug her hair behind her ears. "Be with you."

Ivar stared back at her, perplexed. Then his face softened, as Karime kept shuffling nervously before him. _She is frightened_ , he realized. _Being in a new land, again. Crossing the waves._

He raised his face, and nodded toward her, hoping she could sense his movements. "Okay." Karime stood slowly, leaning on him for support. Ivar brushed his face against her arm, kissing her wrist as she found her balance. They left the tent together, crossing through the trees steadily. A fire was burning; the only light in the thicket of trees, and Ivar crawled toward it, Karime's footsteps light and careful next to him.

His brothers sat around with Floki, King Harald, and Halfdan, as well as a few other warriors and shieldmaidens. They feasted on a beast that had been skinned and roasted, hunted somewhere in the forest where they were settled.

Ivar turned to Sigurd, muttering him about food as he observed Hvitserk carefully. His older brother eyed Karime, concern and hurt in his gaze. Ivar furrowed his brow, anger and something else surging through his body. The reason why he insistent that she stay in the tent was to keep her as far away from Hvitserk as he could. His borther’s words were still rolling through his mind, making his skin prickle in an uncomfortable way. They only seemed to sow the seeds of doubt he was sure had been released.

"Ivar!" He heard. Harald's voice boomed in the night. "You have finally joined us."

Ivar gazed back at the king. "I was tending to other matters," he replied simply, taking food from Sigurd to hand to Karime.

"Ah yes," Halfdan chimed. "Your little servant girl." At that, Karime shifted, though Ivar could see that she tried to hide her nervousness.

"You are mistaken. She is not my servant. She is my woman," he corrected. Floki inhaled sharply when he spoke, the same ones he had used before. Ivar only ignored him, uninterested in recounting their previous conversation.

"Oh," Harald intoned. "I was sure she was the one who filled my horn at the feast. She was.... quite dutiful," he finished, his tattooed face looking smug as the flames cast shadows over his features.

"She does not serve me," Ivar insisted, sighing. He was growing tired of making the same point. "She cares for me as I care for her."

"It is true," he heard, and they all turned their heads to look at Hvitserk. Ivar furrowed his brow, confused as to why his brother was coming to his defense.

"She is kind, and humble. And strong. You would even think she was Viking," Ubbe added, turning his head to smile at Karime. She smiled back, seaming a bit more at ease.

"But she is not," Harald said. "That is the truth. She is not one of us. She is not even a free woman. She is a thraell. Foreign. For all you know, she only claims to care for you. She may be feeding you what you want to hear to gain freedom. Or much more than that," the king stated, looking pointedly at Ubbe. The younger man frowned, staring back at Harald spitefully. Floki shifted where he sat, his visage conveying a knowing and superior look.

Ivar's eyes flit between the two men, then he growled. "You only think so because your precious Ellisif had you fooled. I know better. I do not have to prove myself to win her heart."

"Princess or servant, anyone can learn to trick another. If I am to be fooled, I would at least like it to be someone worthy of me," the king said dismissively.

Ivar opened his mouth to shout back at Harald, but paused when he caught Karime moving. She set her food aside gently and stood, turning to walk slowly back to the tent without another word. Ivar turned when he heard someone exhale deeply. All four of his brothers- even Sigurd- looked worried, their eyes trailing after Karime. He shot the king a menacing glare before crawling after her, his hands digging into the earth roughly. He would deal with Harald later, he promised. Ubbe call after him, but Ivar ignored his brother, moving his arms faster to catch up.

He found her where she was lying before, sitting in the darkness. "Do not listen to their words. You are worthy. You are worth more than that stupid princess-"

"That is not what makes me upset," she told him quietly.

Ivar paused. "How could that not upset you?"

Karime released a breath. "I know who I am. Words do not change this. I am not princess. I am not Lady Arwa. I am..." she raised a hand to her chest, patting it lightly. "But...it hurts. When I hear these things. That I fool you. I do not fool you. I learn to care for you. I learn so much. And this man...he thinks I fool you? It is sad."

Ivar stared back at her form. "The woman he loved...she did not love him back. She never did. I even heard that he and his brother almost killed her, for being married to another. He could not see that this woman never wanted him. _He_ is a fool, and a bitter old man. Harald is still haunted by it, and thinks you are doing the same to me."

"No," she insisted. "Fooling is not honorable."

Ivar lowered his head. He bit his lip, his brow furrowing as he lost himself in his thoughts. "Then you will tell me? If you ever stopped caring for me?" Ivar could feel Karime gazing back at him, and a long moment passed before she spoke.

"Why do you ask this? You believe this? You believe I do not care?" She inquired.

"Hvitserk..." he started. "He told me that he does not understand why you care for me. He said you told him that you wanted me."

"Yes. I do. I have said this before. This has not changed," she insisted softly.

"He angered me. His words, they made me believe…..." Ivar trailed off, punching at the ground.

"Ivar," Karime called. He stopped moving, but did not bother to look at her. "I am worthy, yes?"

"Yes," he immediately replied. “Of course you are. You know this. I-”

"You are worthy as well," she told him, hugging him tightly. "You know this. Always remember."

Ivar fit his face into the crook of her neck. "I will," he promised her.


	25. Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle ensues, but Karime is nowhere near the action

Everything seemed so methodical. She never knew imminent death could be so organized.

Karime looked around as she helped collect the arrows and shields. _This is what it is like, preparing for battle_ , she thought. It was mostly quiet. A few murmurs were exchanged among people; a sudden, random shout or call; the clatter of the weapons. But everyone seemed focused. They had a duty. A mission.

She could understand it, somewhat. Her own obligations were serious matters to her. Karime did not believe in completing her tasks carelessly. Yet, the ending of another's life had never been her objective. She could not fathom it, taking something so sacred, something that was not ever hers to take.

But she knew it was the way of these people. They flung themselves, gleefully, toward demise, and eagerly seized the lives of others. They offered their souls to their many gods, with the conviction that their courage in the face of death would grant them an even better afterlife.

It was new to her; to see the many ways they celebrated the evanescence of being alive. She had watched, before they left for England, when the Queen - the Ursurper, Ivar kept calling her - easily slid a curved, sharpened blade into the man's body. He was important, Ubbe had whispered next to her, and had willingly sacrificed himself; gave his life to the gods for them to bless their journey. Her eyes grew wide as the blood flowed; as the man, youth still somewhat softening his features, clung to the White Queen and drove the sword deeper into his chest. His face was contorted in what looked like jubilation. It was similar to what she had seen on Ivar's own visage, the times they had lied together. Karime saw how everyone was completely captivated, as if they had all eaten those same white mushrooms that she had been offered at the cabin in Kattegat.

It scared her. And fascinated her. Where many would see pain and suffering, there was really devotion. There was no fear. Only certainty and trust.

There were exceptions, of course. Ivar’s father’s death was the very reason they had traveled to England in such large numbers. Death, without just cause, without will, required retribution. And now all of that emotion seemed to be channeled into preparation. The warriors and shieldmaidens readied their spears and flags and swords, marching evenly through the woods, each turn and tree seemingly ingrained into their minds already. She watched as their numbers dwindled, the once full camp now practically empty.

Ivar had ridden ahead alongside his brothers in the beautiful chariot specially made for him. He had been so excited when he showed it to her before they sailed, letting her pet the majestic horse that pulled it forward. But today, he was oddly silent, an intense energy rolling off of him.

"You will stay behind, with Helga and Tanaruz. Stay out of sight. Do you understand?" He asked, his tone low and serious.

Karime nodded, biting at her lip. "Ivar....you will-"

"Yes," he said immediately, knowing what she was asking him. "I will come back. This is not a battle I intend for us to lose."

She nodded again, a quiet _in shā_ _ʾ_ _Allāh_ escaping her lips. She knew how much he wanted revenge for his father. But it worried her. The man with the blue hinna on his face, he had been right - she was not one of them. She could not find any joy in Ivar's potential death, or anyone else's, no matter how admirable it might seem. She could not revel in it like they could. It was not her fight, yet Karime realized she did have much to lose, if things did not go as he intended.

She found the tent where Helga and Tanaruz were, sitting numbly near the entrance. She had never spoken to either of them, had only passed by briefly; Helga always clutching the girl tightly, as if she might run away.

Karime said nothing now, her gaze fixed downward. She could not stop thinking of Ivar, of what could happen. He seemed so sure of himself, but as cunning and commanding and impressive as he was, he had no power to control anyone's fate. No amount of planning or training or knowledge could guarantee their success. That power belonged to the gods; the one she worshipped, and the many he revered. She wanted him to be right, that he and his brothers would not lose. But all Karime felt was dread.

A small, cool hand slipped over her nervous fingers, and she looked up to find Helga, staring at her with wide, black-rimmed eyes. The white haired woman seemed kind, softer than the rest of her people, though they loved her all the same.

"It is all right. They will return to us. The gods are watching over them," she soothed, giving a small smile. Karime returned the gesture briefly, before lowering her gaze again. _Watching yes, but will they protect them?_

"You are from the same place as Tanaruz," Helga stated. Karime looked up, and nodded. "Perhaps you could talk with her? She has not learned our tongue."

Her eyes found the young girl. She looked pale and defeated, staring off into the space before her. It was no surprise. Karime imagined that was how she looked when she first arrived to Kattegat.

"Tanaruz?" The girl blinked, but did not look at her. "It is cold here. Nothing like the warmth of home, yes? Perhaps we shall return, soon."

Tanaruz shifted her eyes slowly to Karime. There was no recognition or familiarity; just a deadness that seemed to claim her entire being. _What have they done to you?_ was her immediate thought, seeing the girl like that. Tanaruz shook her head once, and kept staring with her unnerving eyes. Karime glanced at Helga quickly, then shivered and looked away.

"What did you say to her?" Helga asked lightly.

"I ask if she is hungry. She says no," Karime lied.

"Yes, she does not eat much," the woman replied. "She must not like our food."

 _She must not like you_ , Karime thought, though she could not bring herself to say it. Helga, for some reason, could not see how Tanaruz was suffering. Perhaps the woman was not the one inflicting the pain the girl was carrying, but to refuse to notice it, after all of the time they had spent together, was just as grave.

They sat in silence once more, the patter of rain soothing them somewhat. Hours had passed, and still no one returned. Karime breathed deeply, trying to still her heart, but she could feel her eyes starting to well with tears. She blinked, willing them away, and lied on her side. She blinked, her eyes growing heavy, before sleep finally took her.

* * *

 She was startled awake and heard them. Hooves. 

She stood quickly and left the tent, the sky no longer gray. She splashed through the puddles between the trees, trying to find someone, anyone. A flash of white passed the edge of her vision and she turned. Ivar was ahead of her, looking almost regal in his chariot. She followed him as he rounded the camp and ran up as the beast slowed. When she was close enough Karime saw he was covered with blood and dirt, his blue eyes wide.

Ivar descended from the chariot, and Karime knelt in from of him, hugging him tightly. She wanted to cry, but felt too much joy to sob or shed tears.

"You are safe," she whispered, gripping at his shoulders. The leather and metal that covered him cut into her hands, but she did not care. He was safe.

"We captured Aelle," she heard him say, and pulled away tentatively to face him. "We tore him apart."

Karime pushed back the strands of hair that clung to his forehead. He looked gleeful, the bliss in his gaze swaying toward something a bit more irrational. She smiled softly, hesitantly, placing a light kiss on his lips. Ivar held her tightly and deepened the kiss, his mouth hungry and insistent on hers. He started to pull at her dress, the material almost ripping until she eased her hand over his.

"Ivar-"

"I must have you," he said lowly, lifting her skirt up her legs.

"Yes, but others may see," Karime whispered, her eyes searching the trees for movement.

"I do not care," he growled, finally tearing her dress in two. He took off the bracers encasing his hands and palmed at her skin, his fingers gripping around her ribcage tightly. A moan escaped from her as his mouth found her again, licking and sucking every inch of her neck. Karime started panting when he flciked his tongue over her nipple, the urgent tugging between her legs growing more intense.

Ivar grabbed her suddenly, pushed her back onto the ground and flipped her over. Her heart raced, unsure of what was happening.

"Iva-" she began, lifting her torso to look back at him, but he placed his hand at her shoulder and shoved her back down wordlessly. Her breath left her lungs, and then she felt him lift her skirt up to her waist. The coolness of the air tingled on her skin and for some reason it embarrassed her, being bare to him like this. She had never been in this position before. Her neck and chest grew hot and itchy, the more he lingered. Then she felt him enter her, the tilted angle of her hips causing his length to feel more intense once inside.

Karime cried out as he buried himself into her, her moans mingling with his soft grunts. She felt everything, every single inch of him. As he moved in and out of her, his fingers digging into her waist roughly, her body shook and her chest seemed smaller. It seemed harder to take in air. Ivar started to move faster, grabbing and twisting her hair to pull her body toward his, and she heard the small whimpers released from her throat. It only made him move more vigorously, and she clamped her eyes shut, voice growing louder with each of his thrusts.

His nails cut into her skin, but it did not compare to how the rest of her body felt. Something familiar was growing in her stomach and back. But it was more, bigger than what she had ever felt before. Ivar pulled her hair aside, lowering himself to bite her shoulder and that tipped her over the edge. Karime tensed and released, her walls pulsing around him without control. She screamed, feeling completely unlike herself, her body on fire in a wondrous way. He followed soon after, his hands gripping and squeezing harshly. They fell onto the ground together, his weight heavy on her.

 _What just happened?_ She thought, feeling dazed. Karime felt amazing, but alarmed and slightly confused. It was like neither of them had been really present, an animalistic need taking over their minds. She panted, feeling the wetness of the earth on her face. Ivar's breath matched hers, and she could feel his heart beating wildly at her back. Karime turned slowly to face him once more. He kissed her again, with just as much fervor as before.

"I am happy you are safe," she whispered, smiling up at him.

"I told you I would come back. I would never leave you," he said, trailing his palm up her bare chest.

Karime only smiled wider, reaching up to cup his face. She knew this was merely the beginning of their journey, but she put that thought aside for now. Ivar was back and was safe. She would thank the gods, all the ones she knew, for bringing him back to her.


	26. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been sooooo long! My computer broke, so I am basically cut off, but I borrowed a laptop to post! I hope this is a decent chapter, and I wanted to give a special shoutout to sheshe073 for giving me a kick in the butt to post. Thank you to everyone else also who has stuck with this story. I had no idea what I was getting into, but your support kept me going, and you are still here! Thanks! Happy Halloween!
> 
> Oh, also Karime thinks a lot about her status in this new world. Enjoy!

Something was tugging inside her, painful and incessant.  
  
Karime opened her eyes slowly. The sun had not yet risen, but she could sense it was close to morning. Lying onto her side, a slickness spread between her legs. She sat up abruptly, away from Ivar, and stood carefully, walking out of the tent.  
  
Making sure that no one was around to watch, she lifted her dress and reached down. Pulling her hand away, Karime could just barely make out the dark thickness of the blood on her fingers. She sighed and lowered her head, relief and a slight feeling of glumness settling in her the pit of her stomach.  
  
She and Ivar had not been as careful as she wanted when they lied together the past few times. He already made it clear that he would welcome a child. A child that would be Viking. And of course, she would want a baby, to love and care for. Karime had always dreamed of having a real family of her own, and while Ivar may not have voiced it, that child would have just as much of her as it would of him. They would not only be Viking. They would be somewhere in between her and Ivar, and the thought of that was alarming (how would the baby fare, being of two worlds?), but exciting as well.  
  
But not like this. Not as a captive. If she were to have a child with Ivar, he would have to free her. He would have to acknowledge in his world that she was free, as she always was in hers. Ivar would have to undo what his people did to her, as much as he could. So she was sad, to see the blood flow. To see that her womb had not taken the seed. But was grateful that her body was somehow protecting her,  when her mind and heart would keep leaning toward him.  
  
Karime found a small stream to wash herself, and was glad that the flow had only just started before it could cover anything. The pain in her lower belly grew, twisting and prodding, but the coolness of the water distracted her somewhat. She wished the stream was hot, her body eager to relax as her muscles tensed. She sat, wistful, ripping up her cloak to catch the red between her legs.  
  
It was still dark when she made her way back to the tent. Karime was sore and hurting, and hoped to simply sleep. But Ivar was awake, and she could feel the tension around him. As she approached, kneeling before him,  she saw his face was arranged in a mask of worry and anger.  
  
"Where have you been? You cannot just leave and go wherever you please. We are not in Kattegat," he told her.  
  
_Could I do that in Kattegat?_ She wondered dryly, her brows knitting together.  
  
"I find water to wash," she whispered, blinking slowly. Though they had not been in England long, she was already starting to feel a grainy coating growing across her skin. There was that stream, thankfully, but she was not able to keep as clean as she did in Kattegat. She and everyone else had dirt dusting their faces and hands and in the crevices of their bodies. She mused that it was a part of battle, to focus more on the enemy than one's own wellbeing. But Karime had not been raised to view anyone as an adversary, so her mind obsessed. She wanted to dip herself in deep, scalding water and scrub and scrub everywhere, especially now.  
  
"Wash?" He repeated, still looking annoyed.  
  
"Yes. Blood has come," Karime told him, then winced, running a palm across her belly. Ivar watched her, comprehension now replacing his previous vexation. She lied down, her body seizing as a sharp coil of pain ran from her stomach, to her back, and the rest of her limbs. Karime tried to handle the discomfort, as she always did, but couldn't help it when a small whimper escaped from her lips. She rolled onto her back, breath heavy as she dug her nails into her own skin. She thought that if maybe there was another pain, the tension inside would be a bit easier to take.  
  
Ivar watched her, the lines in his forehead creasing deeply. His face relaxed then, after a moment, and he leaned over her slowly, placing a hand over her stomach. It was larger and much warmer than hers and was already making her body relax. Karime put her hand over his, grateful that he was close. He kneaded his thumb into her  belly, trying to ease the pain away.  
  
She started to doze, the pain a little less intense than before, when she felt Ivar pulling her skirt up. Her eyes flicked open and she started to move away, confused.  
  
Ivar brushed her hand aside, staring right into her eyes. "I will make you feel better," he assured, his voice low and husky. Karime paused, wondering what exactly he was going to do. He continued to expose her legs until he could run his hand underneath the all the cloth to find her center. She squirmed, feeling uncomfortable that his hand was so close to her as her blood flowed.  
  
He rubbed slow circles over her nub, the slight feeling of pleasure mixing oddly with the pain in her belly. Karime was unsure what to do, so she simply lied still, closing her eyes. The pain started to subside as Ivar kept touching her and she sighed, glad to feel some sort of relief. He leaned over her, his face almost touching hers, and moved his fingers faster, as if he wanted to make her release as soon as possible. She bit her lip, the pain almost completely gone and replaced by that familiar feeling. That wonderful glittering she always got when he touched her.  
  
Ivar stopped suddenly, lowering his hand and plunging his fingers inside of her. Karime cried out softly, her body moving in time with the rhythm of his hand. His fingers glided in and out of her, the wetness giving him ease, as the pad of his thumb trailed over her nub again. She no longer felt the twisting; all she sensed was Ivar, his torse over hers and his warm fingers so glorious inside and around her.  
  
Karime reached up, pulling at his tunic. She looked at him and could see that his pupils were blown wide, eyes almost black as he watched her move under him. That was enough to tip her over and she released, whining and grinding her hips into his hand. Karime was panting and sticky, but painless. A pleasant numbness flowed through her, and she smiled softly.   
  
Ivar pulled his hand away carefully, lifting it in front of his face. The red ran down his fingers, dark and thick. He watched, as if in a daze, and Karime observed him with narrowed eyes. She heaved her torso upward, forcing his body upward along with hers, and positioned herself carefully. She then ripped a larger piece of her cloak again. Taking a section of it, she ran it over Ivar's hand, snapping him out of his trance. He eyed her oddly as she cleaned him, but said nothing.  
  
"I must wash again," Karime told him, standing in a way that forced her legs together, to keep the flow from running anywhere. She shuffled to the stream, this time stripping herself completely, and trying as best as she could to cleanse her skin. Though the sky was lightening, the chill in the air remained, and she shook, teeth chattering and skin bubbling. The water washed over her gently, the coolness like a slight pinch. The discomfort was worth it however; the pain had mostly gone, and though she was not as free of the dirt as she would have liked, it was better than before.  
  
Ivar was lying on his back when she returned, looking much more relaxed than he had been when he woke. She grabbed his hand again wordlessly, running a now wet piece of cloth over it more thoroughly.  
  
"We leave tomorrow," he told her, his blue eyes roaming over her frame.  
  
"To Kattegat?" She asked him, hopeful.  
  
"No. We must go south. To find King Ecbert. Make him pay finally for what he did."  
  
Karime's heart sped up. Another battle meant another chance for Ivar to not return. She lowered her head, her brow wrinkling.  
  
"What is it?" He asked, sitting up slowly.  
  
"I am scared. I do not want anything bad for you. My heart...it hurts, thinking you will not return," she told him, avoiding his eyes.  
  
"What did I tell you before?" He asked, but she knew he was not truly looking for an answer. "We will not lose. My father deserves justice. And the gods will give us the strength to make sure we can give it to him."  
  
Karime felt slight relief. They had done it once before. They all left, and they returned. She had prayed, over and over again, that they would, and they did. So there was a chance they would again. He was right.  
  
She sighed. "Yes."  
  
"Do not worry," he said, though it sounded more like a command. "Ecbert will die at our hands."  
  
Karime nodded, and he leaned forward, planting a kiss on her lips. She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, wishing they did not have to leave. Wishing that he would not return to the fray.

* * *

The horses seemed tired. _The warriors and shieldmaidens must have ridden them hard on their way back to camp_ , Karime thought, brushing her hand through one of the beast's dark mane.  
  
She then thought of the shieldmaidens, smiling. They intrigued her quite a bit. The women were just as fierce and brash as the men. They trained hard, sometimes even harder than their counterparts, and were quite respected for their skill. Karime wondered if she could ever fight alongside the maidens, hold her own in battle as well. She had been trained to serve in a different capacity, but both were serving, in their own right. But she knew it was not her calling in life to fight. Not the way these women did.  
  
Ubbe appeared next to her suddenly, bringing her out of her thoughts. His arms were full of supplies for the horses to carry when they would leave to the south, and Karime took them from him with a smile, struggling just a bit from the load.  
  
"You are not too bothered, being with us," he said, somewhere between and question and a statement.   
  
Karime shook her head. "I am here. I do what must be done."  
  
Ubbe nodded, his lips curling slightly. "I wish Margrethe would have come with us. But I do not think it is the place for her."  
  
Karime stared at him for a moment, thinking back to the white-haired girl; her helpless, blue eyes. "Margrethe was like me, yes?"  
  
"Like you?" He asked, crossing his arms under his cloak.  
  
"She was a slave? Before?" She clarified, turning her body to face him.

Ubbe's eyebrows rose quickly as he understood and he nodded again. "Yes. She served our house," he told her.  
  
"And now, you are married," Karime stated, narrowing her eyes slightly.  
  
Ubbe smiled proudly. "Yes."  
  
"How does this happen? How can one slave marry you, a prince?" Karime prodded, tilting her head to the side. She had never thought about it before, but Ubbe was just the person to ask. He would be honest, and kind, about what she wanted to know, and was in the same position she and Ivar were in now.  
  
"Well..." he began, his brow furrowing. "I wanted to marry Margrethe. And she said the same. That she was a slave. But that did not matter to me. I wanted to be with her. I could not stay away from her, even when she did things that I did not like. I wanted her to have anything she wanted. I wanted her to be happy."  
  
Karime nodded. She knew exactly what he meant. When Ivar upset her, she was angry, of course, but not enough to dismiss him completely. One part of her told to do so, to never speak or look at him again, but it never seemed to win. And she loved seeing him smile. She loved seeing him content. It pleased her to know that Ivar was satisfied.  
  
Ubbe looked down at her, his eyes narrowing. "Do you want to marry Ivar?"  
  
Karime met his gaze, her eyes going wide. He looked surprised and just a bit gleeful. She shook her head, unsure of what to tell him exactly.  
  
"I do not know," she decided. "I was not slave before. Now I am. How can I have life I wanted if I am slave? How can I marry Ivar if I am not free, like Margrethe?" She asked him. Ubbe looked back at her, pursing his lips.   
  
"Ubbe," she started, taking a step closer to him. "If you free Margrethe....you can also free me?"  
  
He blinked at her, then furrowed his brow, looking almost pained. Karime did not like that look. She could already tell what he might say.  
  
"I would want to. Of course I would want to," he said softly, his voice just above a whisper. "But Ivar..."  
  
She lowered her head. Karime understood, without him even having to finish. Ubbe meant his words; he would certainly free her, she knew. But even granting her that simple kindness would cause conflict with his brother. Ubbe would be taking away the only gaurantee Ivar had that Karime would not leave him.  
  
But it infuriated her. Ivar still did not trust her. He still did not trust that she would not suddenly up and leave him simply because she was a free woman once more. She had proven to him time and time again what she felt for him. Why must she be chained to him to secure that knowledge?  
  
Yet his fear was rational. She did miss home, so much. She missed Arwa. She missed the harim. Karime would want to go back home again. And either way, as much as she hoped Ubbe would immediately say yes, she knew deep down that it was Ivar who had to do it. He did not enslave her, but him doing that would say so much between them. It would symbolize so much of who he had become, and be show of his own devotion to her. It had to be Ivar. 

Yet he still would not be moved.  
  
Karime looked up at Ubbe and nodded, just once. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. He gripped her fingers in his larger ones, closing his eyes.  
  
"I am sorry, Karime," he said, his tone soothing and sad.  
  
"I am sorry as well," she said in her own tongue, watching his retreating back.

**Author's Note:**

> I recently started watching Vikings, and came across the scene where they find the harem in Spain. For some reason, it made me sad, so I wanted to tell a story from the perspective of one of the women. I think the understanding of what a harem is might be a bit skewed for many with no knowledge or experience of it (myself included), so I wanted to change that. I'm not muslim, nor do I speak Arabic, but I wanted to insert that into the narrative and try to give a different picture of what a harem is, etc. I wanted a protagonist who was not white, and was the main viewpoint; someone who did not exotify or hate the VIkings, but realized their differences while still being true to their culture. Someone aware of their foreignness. I wanted to highlight the fear of being a foreigner, of being in that vulnerable state, as well as being of a lower class. There have been very few characters that have not been white on the show, as well, and they usually die. I wanted to explore what it would be like for Ivar, someone who is vicious and Viking to the core, someone of noble background, to come across someone he considers so very different from himself. How would each character react to the other? How would they change? Would they change at all? This story hopefully gives one possible answer.


End file.
